The Chino
by JBKAF Productions
Summary: Ryan's return to The Chino. (A Brandywine421 and Joey51 combined effort)
1. Prologue

__

A/N- We are JBKAF Productions. A partnership of authors that have an unnatural attraction to porches and brooding blond bad boys from Chino. Together, we are 472, drunken baby kangaroos. (I'm sure there are at least a couple of sharp and witty TWoPers who'll decode that in no time.)

__

We welcome you to The Chino. Please enjoy responsibly.

The Chino

Prologue

Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

-- M.S. Merwin

I step off the bus and give the driver a farewell nod. I've been a regular passenger for the past two weeks, but only today did I learn that his name is Al.

I light a cigarette, cupping my sore hand around the delicate flame. I'm tired. I haven't been this tired in years. Fuck, I've never been this tired. Twelve hour night shifts at the factory are going to break me. I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my days.

I inhale the smoke and start the short walk home.

Home. Home is Chino again. It's morning and the sun only heightens the effect of the landscape on my mood. I live with Theresa now, not the Cohens. There are no gardeners here to make sure the grass stays green. There are no landscapers to take care of the weeds that manage to find earth through the sidewalks and concrete. I thought I'd left this behind but I'm right back where I started.

I have to pull myself out of this exhaustion. I'm off work for the night and I badly need the break. It's barely dawn but I'm looking forward to getting some rest.

Theresa's pregnancy is still understated. I can only see a change when she's sans clothes. She should be leaving for work soon. As long as she's mobile and not too tired, she's going to work at the restaurant as much as possible. I'd fight her on it if we weren't so desperate for the money. The baby's going to need things that we can't afford right now. We can't afford for her not to work. Both of our incomes are necessary.

I wonder what day it is. I left Newport at least two weeks ago. It doesn't really matter. I still have to be at work at six o'clock at night, six days a week. It's tedious, monotonous work, but it comes with the territory. I'm where I need to be. I can't let Theresa handle this pregnancy alone.

It's more than a pregnancy. It's a child.

I take a drag off the generic cigarette. Theresa hates that I'm smoking again but she seems to realize that it's one of my few pleasures.

I sit down on her porch - our porch. To say the least, things have changed.

I remember stolen kisses with Theresa underneath this very porch. We would hide from our brothers, Trey and Arturo, who were too stoned most of the time to do anything except harass us. We'd crawl under the porch, away from the harsh sunlight, lie on the cool earth and kiss each other until we were out of breath.

I think about Seth constantly. I wonder where he really is. I can only imagine what Sandy and Kirsten are going through. I haven't seen them in person since the wedding, but I receive phone messages at least twice a day. They say Seth left the same day; sailed off into the ocean, the crazy bastard. Summer was what Seth had wanted his whole life and he sailed away from her on his damn little boat.

No one's said it, but we all know it's because of me.

"Hey. When'd you get back?" Theresa sits down beside me on the porch and leans her head against my shoulder.

"Just now."

"Tired?"

I answer her with a sigh as I flick the cigarette onto the dead lawn.

"I'll be home around three. I have a doctor's appointment." I put my arm around her. I know she's scared. She's not ready for this. Neither am I. It's coming anyway. We no longer have a choice.

It's not a choice, it's a child.

"Am I coming this time?"

She smiles at me. She's beautiful. That hasn't changed. I have.

"Yes, Ryan. You can come this time."

"Good to hear." I close my eyes and try to unwind. Despite all my efforts, I can't relax.

Not here in Chino. Not even with Theresa.

"We're out of milk," she states after a long pause.

She knows I'm tired but she has to go to work.

"Okay."

"Take Ma's car."

"Does it have gas?" We'd quickly fallen into a pattern of an old married couple that only talks about the household agenda. We haven't talked about anything important since she brought me back to Chino. It's still all too raw. So we've become domesticated. We play our roles.

"What do you think?"

I open my eyes and meet her stare. "I said okay."

Theresa smiles sympathetically and presses a grocery list into my hand. She hesitates and pulls my palm open. "You need lotion."

My hands are tough and coarse from the hard labor of my new job. They'd bled the first three days but the blisters have since turned to calluses - a reminder of how soft I'd gotten living in Newport. I can't imagine touching Marissa's skin or shaking Sandy's hand with these hands.

Theresa stands and kisses my cheek chastely. "Two forty-five. I'll pick you up."

"I'll be awake." Sleep is an anomaly. Time away from work is time that can be spent searching for Seth.

She turns and starts for her car. I watch her walk away. She stops and turns. "The Cohens called again. And Summer."

I nod.

Theresa hesitates. "He didn't call, Ryan. I'm sorry."

I don't answer her. Seth's okay. He has to be.

I watch her drive away before pushing myself up onto my sore feet and opening the squeaky screen door. I should probably look into oiling that.

----------------/-------------------/------------------------/------------------------

I notice a scribbled note on the counter. Jotted down are the exact times of when the Cohens have called. Last night at 5:00. Again at 6:30. Once more at 10:00.

I've asked Theresa and her mother not to talk to them, to let the machine get it or tell them I'm out and take messages. They reluctantly comply and don't ask questions. I have to do this on my own time.

I've only talked to Sandy a couple times since I left. He sounded tired. Worried sick. His son's been missing for over two weeks and not a word's been heard. I can't help but think it. I don't want to, but the thought's always lingering at the back of my mind. I don't know what I would do if that were the case. I won't think about that. I can't think about that.

"Morning, Ryan."

"Morning, Eva. How're you feeling today?"

She smiles and gently pats my shoulder as she shuffles toward the stove.

I had no idea of Eva's condition until I came back. She's diabetic and she's not well. Things have gone downhill in the short amount of time that I've been here. She hasn't been to work at all this week and though she doesn't complain, I can tell she's in constant pain.

I lean heavily against the counter and scrunch the note containing the messages in my hand.

The kettle starts to scream. Eva pours the water into two mugs containing tea bags. She grabs the milk carton out of the fridge and shakes it.

"I'll go to the store," I assure her.

"Get some sleep first."

She removes the tea bags and places a cup in front of me. Smiling, she once again pats my shoulder and gingerly walks back toward her room.

I don't like tea. Never have. But every morning it's the same thing. I come home, she makes me tea. Every morning she looks worse - stiffer. Every morning I'm more tired.

I take a few obligatory sips before dumping the rest down the sink.

I wish I had some coffee - even Kirsten's coffee. I'd gladly sip around the grains for a cup of her coffee.

I turn on my laptop and close my eyes as I wait for Windows to load. I check my email.

Twenty-four new messages. I hold my breath as I open my inbox and quickly scan the names. Hoping.

Nothing.

I never thought I'd want to see the words "Captain Oats" so badly. I compose yet another letter. It's a variation of the same thing every time.

__

Where are you? Your parents are scared out of their minds. I'm scared…

Please, Seth, write me back when you get this. I just need to know you're alright.

I'm sorry.

Send.

I scan the other names. Sandy, Kirsten, Marissa, Summer. There are multiple notes from each of them. I can't read them now.

I grab Eva's car keys off the counter and pat my back pocket to make sure that I have

Theresa's grocery list. I might as well get it over with.

I stop by Eva's room and knock lightly on the door.

"Come in."

I push it open but hold my place in the doorway. She's in bed. She's almost always in bed. I wish I could do more for her. The sun pouring in from the window streaks across her bedspread. She raises a hand to block her eyes from the brightness.

"I'm gonna go to the grocery store. Do you want me to pick up anything? Anything you need?"

"No, sweetie, but thank-you. I wish you would sleep."

"I will," I reply with a forced smile. She disapprovingly shakes her head from side to side.

"I'll be back shortly."

----------------/-------------------/------------------------/------------------------

The grocery stores are modest, unlike those found in Newport. There are no aisles devoted to tofu or alternative milk products. There are two kinds of apples, not six. Just basics and bare necessities.

I shuffle through the aisles and pluck assorted items from the shelves. I doubt they even have these brands in Newport - too low class. I don't have to search for the cheapest generic brand; it's all they carry.

My eyelids feel heavier by the second and I'm starting to doubt my ability to make the five minute drive back home.

"Ryan."

"Eddie." I'm suddenly more awake.

I've seen Eddie a few times since coming back home. He's been surprisingly pleasant. Guilty. I can see it in his eyes. He knows I know he hit her. He knows I want to kill him for it. He wants to kill me for being with her. But he also knows that I'm his only connection to her. And I also know that he might be this baby's father. It's best that we all remain alive.

Theresa won't talk to him. I don't blame her. For her sake, I hope he's not the father. At least I know I'll never hurt her. Either way, this baby's mine now, regardless of paternity.

It's my responsibility, not Eddie's.

She knows better than to speak of him around me. She says I have a blind spot where he's concerned, that I haven't tried to understand, but all I need to know is that he hurt her. I don't care if he loves her. I don't care if she loves him. It's the one thing that Theresa and I cannot talk about. There's a mountain of things that we don't talk about, but Eddie's the one thing that we can't talk about.

I owe it to her to keep the peace.

"How's Theresa?"

"Fine."

"And the…." He can't finish his sentence.

"Fine. As far as I know."

"Do you think she'll talk to me? Just over the phone or something?"

"No."

I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell this guy that she's done with him.

Deep breath. Keep the peace.

"Can you tell her…tell her that I…," he stumbles on the words.

"Yeah."

He nods. He must understand.

I bow my head and wait. I can never tell if he's going to walk away or go ballistic on me.

Right now, I'm too tired to care.

"All right. Take care of yourself. And tell her.… Tell her." He backs away slowly before turning.

I can't feel sorry for Eddie. He's off the hook. I'm playing his role now. I don't want to; I have to. It's the right thing to do. I have to keep telling myself that.

I load the groceries into the car and settle back into the worn driver's seat. Rolling down the window, I light another cigarette. I lean my head back against the headrest and savor every long drag. If I would let myself, I'm sure I could fall sleep right here, right now.

The thought is too appealing and I have to force myself to turn the key. The engine grumbles, but finally turns over. The rattling is like a lullaby and I wish I could let the gentle vibrations lull me to sleep.

If I'm lucky, I can work in a couple hours of rest between phone calls to marinas along the southern coast. Seth couldn't have gone too far. That boat of his wouldn't allow for it.

I take the final drag off the cigarette as I pull the old car into the driveway. Kids are playing on the lawn next door. I try not to look. That house. It's a place I try my hardest to forget. Now it's so close. Unavoidable.

I quietly place the food in the fridge and cupboards, careful not to wake Eva if she happens to be asleep.

Wandering into Theresa's room - _our room _- I grab the stack of weathered papers from the drawer in the nightstand. The multiple pages contain lists of all the marinas, boat shops, repair shops, hotels, motels and hospitals within a five hundred mile radius. All the names on the first three pages have been crossed off. No one by Seth's name, or matching his description, has been mentioned.

I'm sure that Sandy and Kirsten have an extensive search party in action, but I can't sit around and do nothing. I did this, now I've got to fix it. When I do find him, and I'm sure I will, I'm going to punch him. He could have thought of something else to get back at me that wouldn't have hurt his parents like he has.

Swiping the phone from its cradle, I head back outside and cringe as the screen door squeaks loudly upon my exit. Eva surely would have heard that.

I set up shop on the top step. Flipping the pages to where I left off yesterday, I begin to dial. I give the same spiel every time. I think I could do it in my sleep.

Nothing. Another number. Nothing.

I'm no longer disappointed when they say they haven't seen or heard of him. I'm not expecting them to. I just need to know I've checked. It's a process of elimination. He can only be so many places.

The sound of a wailing child from next door catches my attention. A little boy is sitting in his sandbox just off the porch. The front door's open so, I assume, his caregiver can keep an eye on him.

He's maybe two - two-and-a-half at the most. I don't know why he's crying. He doesn't appear to be hurt. Hungry? Maybe. I don't know. Should I know? Is every child different?

A chill runs up my spine at my own lack of knowledge. How are we going to do this?

His sobs get louder and louder until a flustered woman, no older than twenty-five, emerges from the house. She scoops him up from behind and starts bouncing from foot to foot while cooing softly into his ear. Her actions seem to pacify the child and his crying quickly tapers to a dull whimper.

Silence.

She seems to know what she's doing. The woman must sense my presence because she glances over in my direction. Once establishing eye contact, she smiles apologetically and turns back toward the house with the little boy in hand.

I close my eyes and let my upper body fall flat against the warm wooden boards of the porch. Reaching blindly into my pocket, I pull out another cigarette. This whole idea gets scarier by the minute.


	2. Chapter One

__

A/N- Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. To those that pulled meaning from that brainteaser, congrats to you! For those that still don't know ... I'm sorry!

__

Being the risk takers that we are, we chose not to disclaim in the prologue…. Okay, we forgot, but here it goes:

__

Disclaimer: We bow down to those who do actually own these characters, and we thank them for letting our humble selves play with them as we see fit. We DO, however, own that porch, and NO ONE can take that away from us.

The Chino

Chapter One

Sandy is glad to see Kirsten sleeping. His wife hasn't had a restful sleep in far too long. Even if it's on the patio and she's still wearing the clothes from the day before, she's asleep and that's all that matters.

It's been a harsh few weeks for Kirsten, even by Newport's soap-operaish standards. Her son, her only offspring, is missing at sea.

At least they think he's at sea.

They hope that he's tanning on a tourist beach somewhere, babbling mindlessly to an attractive girl. They hope he's camped out at a comic-con waiting anxiously to get a new issue signed. They hope he's sleeping in a posh hotel and ordering room service.

They hope he's anywhere but in the middle of the ocean.

Her other son, the one she'd grown to love as one of her own, has left her, too. Sandy thinks that Ryan's leaving hurts her more because he's not really gone, he's just out of reach.

They hope he's eating right and taking care of himself. They hope that he's sleeping and working a job that will use his mind instead of his body. They hope that he's not throwing his life away.

They hope that he'll realize that he belongs with them and come home. They hope he'll call.

Sandy settles into the chair beside Kirsten and glances over to the pool. Summer, his son's abandoned girlfriend, is lying on Seth's bright green float in the blue water. Beside her, Marissa is lounging on Ryan's orphaned float. The girls are frequent visitors here. It's been four weeks - a whole month - but the girls still come.

They come, hoping that one day their boys will come home to them. The girls share the same dream as Sandy and Kirsten. They also share the same fears.

Summer's fear is written all over her face. She thinks that Seth's left her, just like her mother did. She thinks that he's dead. She thinks that he's stupid for leaving. His parents need him, Ryan needs him and, God, she fucking needs him, too. Her best friend is a wreck, alternating between crying and laughing and she doesn't seem to do anything but sit by her phone and wait for Ryan to call.

Summer needs Seth. She needs him now more than ever. She's never _needed_ anything before, but the lack of Cohen in her life is killing her. She can feel herself fading without him. He made her good. He made her beautiful, but she wasn't enough to make him stay.

She wants to beat the hell out of Chino for making Seth think he had to leave. But it's not Chino's fault. She wasn't enough to make him stay.

Marissa's fear is hidden behind her eyes. She thinks Ryan's left her for another woman. It could be true, if the baby is a girl. She wants to hate him; she wants to pelt him with her fists to make him feel the pain that she feels from losing him. He made her think that he'd always be there for her, that he'd take care of her. He'd never let her down before, but now he's gone. He's just gone. He's gone without her and she can't make it on her own. Her best friend's just lost her boyfriend, too, but Summer's strong. She can handle it. Marissa can't, and Ryan should know that. She needs him. She needs him to come back and save her. She _needs_ him to come back.

Kirsten mumbles in her sleep and Sandy reaches over and takes her hand. She slowly blinks the sleep from her eyes and smiles sadly. At least it's a smile. He realized weeks ago that he can't take away the sadness. She's lost two sons.

In a way, she's lost her father, too. Caleb's in jail awaiting trial, his bankruptcy keeping him from making the bail he needs to be free until his court date. She can't help him and she won't. She didn't know about his transgressions; she always thought he was good at heart. She loves her father, but she won't help him. She visits him almost every day and seeing him is enough for her. She regrets a lot, but she doesn't regret visiting him. She doesn't regret his mistakes, only her own.

Even if he's a bad person, he's still her father and she loves him.

She loves her boys, too. No matter what they do or how much trouble they get into, she'll always love them. Nothing that they could ever say or do would change that.

But Seth left her. She doesn't know if she can forgive him for that. A year ago, she wouldn't have considered losing Seth like this. He would have talked to her; he would have come to her and told her that he was unhappy. But instead, he left a note. A Goddamn note. A note telling her that he couldn't stay in Newport for the summer without Ryan. That if Ryan had to leave to take care of his issues, then he had to go, too.

If she could find Seth, she'd hug him until he couldn't breathe and then she'd slap the hell out of him for leaving her. She'd tell him that just because Ryan had to go, they're still a family and they need to stick together.

A year ago, there was no Ryan. He had burst into their life and turned their family into … something more. She has no regrets. Not about Ryan. He belongs with them. He's a Cohen in every way except name. She has no regrets.

Ryan left because he thinks he has to save the world, or at least, Theresa. God, she wishes that he would act like a normal kid and realize that he can't do this by himself. He's so smart; he's worth so much more than having to be a parent at seventeen with a girl that he doesn't love. But she knows that he will do whatever he sets his mind to. He will raise this child, even if it's not his, and he will love it with all his heart and become the father that he never had. She knows that he gives his all to everything and everyone. She just wishes he could do it here.

Kirsten turns her face away from her husband. He's seen her cry too often recently, but she misses her boys. She needs them. She wants to make this all better for them … but they're gone. How can she live her life without her family?

Sandy sits down in the chair with her and pulls her close to him. She quietly cries into his shoulder.

--------------/---------------------/-------------------/----------------------/------------------/--------------------

God, I'm so fucking tired that I can't see straight anymore. I think I pulled something in my back yesterday when I was helping Theresa get her mother from the bathroom to the bed.

Eva. God, could this happen at a worse time? Theresa had come home a few days earlier and found her mother unconscious on the bathroom floor. I know exactly how she felt seeing her mother incapacitated like that. I'd found my own mother passed out enough times to know the fear it provokes.

And Theresa loves her mother so damned much, I don't know if she's going to be able to handle this. The doctors told us that Eva had a stroke. Her left side's paralyzed.

It's so tragic to hear her talk, her words slurred because half of her body has given up. She can't walk. She can't get out of bed without me or Theresa helping her. She's an invalid.

Theresa's freaking out. She's always crying and I know she's moody because of the pregnancy, but it's more than that. I'm working my ass off, she's working her ass off, but shit still keeps falling apart around us. Her mother's sickness has done something to her. I don't know if she's going to be able to hold it together.

I walk toward the house. Eva's car has broken down again and I'm just too damned tired to try my hand at fixing it right now. I left it on the curb a couple of blocks from the factory. I'll settle for taking the bus. Gas costs too much anyway. It's in such shitty shape that I know it won't get stolen. Fuck, if someone can get it running, they can have the damn thing.

There's still no word from Seth. I can't physically keep up my schedule of searching for him now that Eva's so sick.

We can't afford a nurse. Theresa won't put her in a nursing home, not that we can afford that either. So we're rolling with the punches. We brought her home from the hospital a few days ago and we're doing our best to take care of her. When I'm at work, Theresa does the best she can. When she's at work, I do what I can.

Eva deserves better, but there's nothing we can do about it. Arturo's going to be in jail for years and Theresa's all she has. I'm all Theresa has.

I can finally see the house.

I sit on the porch to smoke what remains of my cigarette.

Theresa's car is still in the driveway. She must be running late again. Seems like we're always running late. We're stuck on pause until we get this situation figured out. I have my doubts. I don't think we're going to figure this out anytime soon.

I wince involuntarily as the screen door squeaks. Theresa.

"I thought you were going to pay the electric bill, Ryan. You know I don't have time for this; you know that I don't have the money," Theresa starts from behind me.

I won't get angry. I paid the bill two days ago - online so I could see the payment accepted immediately. She doesn't mean to be this way but she needs to vent so I let her.

"I can't believe that you would forget something like this. I mean, we need power! What's Ma going to do if there's no power?"

I turn and look up at her as I take a long drag off the cigarette. Smoke drifts from my mouth as I speak. "I paid it."

"You did?" Her face immediately falls with regret. I accept that as an apology.

"Sit down, Theresa."

"I don't have time, I'm late…."

I reach up to grab her hand and she pauses. "Sit down. Just for a minute."

She reluctantly takes a seat beside me on the porch. I put my arm around her. Her face is streaked with tears again.

"We're going to get through this." I hope she believes me. I have to say it; there's nothing else that I can say right now.

"How?" She's crying. She turns into me and wraps her arms around my chest. I let her cling tightly as I rock her gently.

"You can't keep getting stressed like this. It's not good for you or the baby."

"I can't even think about that right now. Ma's so sick…."

"You have to take care of yourself first. You're taking care of two now, you can't forget that. Let me worry about everything else," I whisper into her ear.

"She's not your problem…."

"She's not a problem, she's your mother. And we're a team now, right?" I put my hands on the back of her head and pull her away to look at me. "We're in this together, okay?"

She nods and wipes the tears from her face. I never imagined that a woman could cry as much as Theresa has in the past few weeks. Hormones, I guess. She must be dehydrated from the water that's been constantly streaming down her face in recent days.

"I need you to take care of yourself, okay? Relax. We'll get through this."

"You promise?"

I'm not sure I heard her so I don't answer. After a moment, she stands and offers me a hand. I accept it and rise to my feet.

"God, Ryan, I never pictured us like this." She smiles suddenly.

"Like what?" I'm confused. She hasn't smiled in days. Must be the hormones again.

She kisses me impulsively and squeezes my ass. If I wasn't so damned tired, I might have been able to respond.

"I used to picture us as the ultimate married couple … living in a place like Newport, making lots of money and never having to work. You used to be so damned sexy …." She grins.

"Used to?" I quietly tease. I'm not totally comfortable with the 'couply' vibe that she's been giving me lately, but at least she's not crying. I mean, she knows that I'm here for her and that I'm not going anywhere, but I'm still not ready to be with her like that.

I don't know what we're doing. We're sleeping together, but that's something we've always done. Sex isn't about love with us. Sex is just something we do well together. Stress relief. And God knows we've needed it lately. Fuck the mixed messages, I just don't have the energy to worry about what's happening between us.

"That's not what I mean," she replies. She kisses me again and I return it automatically. She lets the kiss fade into a hug. "I miss what we were. This isn't what I wanted. I mean, I always wanted you … but not like this."

"Hey, stop, okay?" I don't need to hear this right now. I can only focus on one thing at a time. I've gotten her calm, I'm in control. Things are level right now. I can do this, but I need to be able to focus.

"I just want you to know … how much this means to me … that you … that you'd give up so much to help me."

I hold her close and feel her let out a sigh. "I didn't give up anything, Theresa. I chose to be here. This is my baby, too."

"But we're not sure."

"It's mine. I'm going to be the father whether it's mine or not." I mean what I said. It doesn't matter. Not now. It's too late for anything else.

She sighs again.

"Better?"

"Much."

"Go to work. I'll make sure you have something for dinner, okay?"

"Don't forget to check Ma's blood sugar. It was a little low earlier but nothing serious."

We separate and she holds my hand.

"I won't forget."

"I know. But it makes me feel better to remind you." She takes a couple of steps down but doesn't release my hand until she's out of reach.

"I know." I smile at her. I wait until she gets into her car before I step into the house.

It's hot inside. The place is sweltering. I'd grown accustomed to the air condition back in Newport and now that I'm living without, I feel the heat ten-fold. I open the window above the kitchen sink to help get a cross-breeze flowing. I can feel beads of sweat already forming across my forehead.

Despite the heat, I place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag from the cupboard. Eva likes her tea in the morning. If that's all it takes to make her happy, I'll make sure she gets it.

I wait until steam billows from the spout. I remove the kettle from the heat before it has a chance to whistle. From experience, I know that's not the best sound to wake up to.

The tea steeps. I scrounge through the cupboards in search of instant coffee. Theresa doesn't want coffee in the house. The smell makes her crave it and she says it's hard enough resisting temptation at the restaurant. I usually pick one up on my way to work at night, but I could really use one now.

I find the container. The plastic measuring spoon rattles inside. It's all but empty.

I toss the tea bag and empty container into the garbage and make my way toward Eva's room. I knock quietly and push the door open when there's no response.

We lock eyes and she tries to smile.

It's so Goddamned hard. My eyes sting and I blink a few times. I've been battling tears for the past week. I write it off to Theresa's rampant emotions rubbing off on me.

But Eva … Eva was always so strong. She made things better. Watching her so helpless – hopeless – is so fucking sad.

I place the steaming mug on the nightstand before helping her into an upright position.

Her meds. I forgot her meds. Theresa takes care of them at night; I'm in charge of the meds during the day.

I move towards the door, but I'm stopped. I turn to see Eva's right hand delicately clinging to my wrist. I look at her. Worried. Something's wrong. She must sense my panic because she tries to smile and gently squeezes her fingers.

"Thank-you." Her words are slurred but her voice is firm.

I nod, and close my eyes for a second. I'm exhausted. I can't take this anymore.

She pulls me closer. I allow myself to sit on the edge of the bed. She continues to squeeze my hand every few seconds.

I keep my eyes closed. I'm so fucking tired.

I feel a pat on the top of my hand before she releases her grasp.

Pulling my eyes open, I rise to my feet. I can hear myself shudder as I inhale deeply.

Focus. Meds.

I return quickly with the meds and a glass of water. She's getting better at drinking and no longer needs help holding the cup. I check her blood sugar. Until last week, I didn't have a clue how to do this. Now it feels like second nature.

Satisfied, I give her a small smile before making my way toward the door.

"Ryan."

I turn to face her.

"Sleep."

I nod and force myself to smile again.

I walk into our well-kept room. Theresa makes the bed every morning; I make it every night. Rarely is it occupied by both of us at the same time.

After making sure the alarm is set for noon - when Eva will need her next dosage - I ditch my jeans and t-shirt in a heap on the floor. Moving the ruffled pillows to the side, I climb onto the inviting mattress.

I pull a single sheet up over my chest. It's too hot to be under anything else. My back starts to cramp immediately but I'm too tired to let it, or the suffocating heat, keep me wake. Sleep comes in an instant.

-----------------/----------------/-------------------/----------------

I turn on my laptop and tap my fingers on the counter as I wait for it to start up.

My stomach growls. I should eat but I hate the thought of going back to the grocery store again. I don't have a car at the moment and that means that I would have to carry the bags on the bus. I think there's some chicken in the freezer that I can cook up for dinner. I'll have to ask Theresa to stop by the store and pick up a few things on her way home.

I check my email. Thirty-two new messages. Marissa, Kirsten, Sandy, Summer. A quick scan shows nothing from Seth. I start another letter.

Please, just send me something. Let me know you're ok.

Your mom and dad … they're scared. I'm scared. Please, Seth.

Send.

Again, my stomach rumbles. I grab the pack of smokes off the counter and head outside. At least there's a breeze out there. We should probably invest in some fans. I know Eva could use one in her room.

The door squeaks loudly. I should really fix that. Later.

I flick the lighter, but the wind extinguishes the flame instantly. I face toward the house and try again. Something catches my eye. A bright green piece of paper is tacked to the door.

I approach slowly, squinting to make out the writing from a distance.

Sandy.

I sigh in relief. At least we're not evicted.

I pull at the paper. The tape removes a few paint chips from the old white door.

Ryan,

I stopped by around 11:00.

No one was answering.

I'll try calling you again later.

I really want to see you, kid.

We miss you.

Sandy

I slept through Sandy's impromptu visit. I look at my watch. 12:45. It took over half an hour to go through Eva's midday care. Folding the paper, I place the note in my pocket. I grab the phone from inside and head back out to the porch. My stomach turns over with nervousness as I dial. Maybe they've heard something.

"Sandy Cohen."

"Sandy. Hey."

"Ryan. How are you?"

"Fine. What's going on?"

"Nothing really." He sounds worn. He must be beside himself. Seth's been gone too long.

There's a long pause before he continues. "I stopped by. Did you get my note?"

"Yeah, sorry. I was out." I don't want them to know about my job. I don't want them to know about Eva. They should only have to worry about finding their son.

"How's it going? Are you working?"

"Sometimes. Not a lot."

"Good. Good…." Sandy seems happy with my answer.

"And Theresa?"

"She's good. Getting bigger."

"Yes, that's what happens."

"Any word?" My voice shakes as I ask the question.

"No. Not yet." Sandy sighs and I can feel his sadness. He can't lose hope. I rely on his optimism.

"We'll find him," I add positively.

"I know. And when we do, he's grounded 'til he turns eighteen."

I want to smile, but I can't. There's a possibility that things aren't all right – that he'll never come home. I wince at the thought.

"When can I see you?"

I think about the question. I don't want him to come here.

"I work all week, but maybe next week sometime?" I won't set a definite date. He shouldn't be here. He should be looking for Seth.

"Sure. I'll call you later in the week to make arrangements. Take care, kid."

"I will. Tell Kirsten I say hi." I wait to hear the dial tone before hanging up.

I try to light my cigarette again; success comes with the third flick of the lighter.

I sit down and the top step creaks under my weight.

I focus solely on the cigarette for a solid minute. The smoke takes a little bit of tension from my body every time I exhale. I arch my back and roll my shoulders from side to side as I try to stretch out my tight muscles.

The kids next door are tossing a Frisbee. I absently observe as they fail to catch it time and time again.

I take another long drag.

Where are their parents? Is it safe to just leave them alone in the front yard like that?

They aren't very old. The boy looks around nine, while the girl must be a year or two younger. I don't see the baby from before.

The boy starts to yell at his little sister. He's pointing upward. I follow his finger to see the bright red Frisbee laying on the black roof.

He continues to rant. She starts to cry.

I glance around again; still no sign of the parents.

The little girl stomps her way inside the house, her displeasure obvious. The boy circles the lot as he appears to be analyzing the best way to retrieve his toy.

I relish the final drag off my smoke and flick the butt onto the lawn with the others.

He stops around the side.

He'll see it soon.

Sure enough, he starts to climb the old, rusted antenna. He cautiously scales his way to the top and once there, he pauses. The jump to the roof looks further than it is. By the time I was twelve, I could do it with my eyes closed.

He leaps with all his might, surely scraping his knees against the rough shingles upon landing.

He crawls across the rest of the distance until he reaches his Frisbee. Then he sits. He looks around. Even though it's just a small bungalow, the view from up there is so different. I used to sit up there for hours, hiding from everyone and everything. They would come looking for me - screaming my name as they stormed around the house. No one ever thought to look up. I was safe there.

"Michael!"

The boy doesn't answer his mother's call.

"Michael?!"

Again, he sits perfectly still. It's like he's invisible.

"Michael!" Panicked, the woman runs back into the house while continuing to call her son's name.

He notices I'm watching at him. Fear sweeps across his face.

"Michael!" The woman walks around the far side of the house. Her anxiety heightens with every passing second.

I should say something. She can't find her child. She's hysterical. But I don't know this kid. I don't know what his life is like. Who am I to judge whether or not he's happy? Whether or not he deserves to have a place to hide?

He hugs his Frisbee tight against his chest and continues to stare at me with worried eyes. He knows he's in trouble if his mother finds him up there.

I look down and rise to my feet. I won't give him away. Everyone needs to be invisible sometimes.


	3. Chapter Two

__

A/N- The game's over. Anyone that didn't catch onto the riddle, you can get the answer from our summary.

__

Thanks for all the kind reviews and we hope you continue to enjoy our little creation.

One note, we were asked how Ryan would be able to afford a laptop and internet. We've seen Ryan with a laptop in several episodes and we just assumed it was his (a generous gift from the Cohens perhaps?). We wrote this to assume that he was on the Cohens' internet bill. He would hold onto the laptop (as opposed to selling it) because he figured it was his best shot at regaining contact with Seth. Hope that explains everything.

Disclaiming: We can only lay claim to the porch....

****

The Chino

Chapter Two

"Atwood. You got a call."

Damn. I didn't even know the supervisor knew my name. I follow him to the phone in the small office where the time clock is. I don't let myself think about who would be calling me. I'll find out soon enough and the short walk isn't long enough for me to prepare myself anyway.

"Said it was an emergency," the man grumbles, sitting down behind his desk. I shake off the momentary dizziness that comes from my short walk. I know I'm tired but for the last couple of days, I've been getting dizzy and breathless from short periods of exertion. I'm too exhausted to deal with an emergency right now, that's for damned sure.

I put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Ryan?"

"Theresa, what's wrong?" I ask immediately. Her voice is unsteady and I can tell by her tone that it's something serious.

"Something's wrong …."

"What? Is it Eva?"

"No … with the baby." Oh god. I steady myself but putting a hand against the table where the phone is resting.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home."

"What's wrong? Have you called the doctor?"

"I'm bleeding … a little … can you … can you come home?" She wouldn't be asking if she wasn't worried. She knows how much this job means, how I can't lose it, but she's still scared enough to ask me to come home.

"I'll be right there. Call the doctor right now, okay?"

"Okay." She's crying.

I hang up and turn to face the supervisor.

"Everything okay?" the man asks suspiciously.

"I need to go. My girlfriend, she's pregnant and she thinks that something's wrong." I don't want to lose my job, but I have to go. It's taking every ounce of my self-control to keep from bolting out of the office.

"How far along is she?"

"I have to go. She's bleeding and …." I don't mean to say it but the words come out.

"You haven't missed a day since you started. You're a good worker. Take the rest of the morning; take tomorrow if you need it. Just leave a message on the office machine if you're not going to make it in."

"Thanks," I manage.

"Good luck. I hope everything's okay."

I hurry out of the building, breaking into a run in the parking lot. I drove Eva's car this morning because I wanted to pick up some things for the nursery. It's barely running but it's working today, thank God.

I have to get home. The sprint across the parking lot leaves me winded and I can't really focus on the road signs but I know the way home.

I never expected the call at work to be like this. I want a call about Seth's return to pull me off the line. I want a call in six months about Theresa's water breaking. Not this.

I have to get home.

I drive as fast as I can without plowing over pedestrians. I park on the street. The car sputters and there's a loud clunk. I think it might be dead, but I don't have time to worry about that.

The door slams behind me as I run into the house. She's not in the kitchen.

"Ryan?" She sounds weak.

I follow her voice to the bathroom. She's still in her waitress uniform, vainly trying to dry her tear streaked face.

"Are you all right?" I gently turn her face toward me.

"Damn, that was fast …."

"Dammit, Theresa, are you okay?" She's pale. She's scared, too, I can see it through the tears in her eyes.

"I'm fine, it's just …." She starts crying again.

I take her in my arms. She's shaking. She winds her arms around me.

"I just … I don't want to lose this baby."

"I know. Let's go to the doctor, okay?" Now is not the time for this conversation. Her trembling is contagious; My body shakes alongside hers.

"We don't have the money," she whispers into my shoulder.

"Shhh. Don't worry about that, we just have to go." She's right, but I'll have to take care of it. The few savings I've managed to collect can help. She can't be worrying right now. Not about money. She has to worry about the baby.

"I'm so scared."

"I'm here for you. There's nothing to be afraid of, okay?"

She utters a sound that I interpret as "okay" but she makes no movement to let go of me. I scoop her up. She keeps her arms around my neck and Holds on as I carry her into the kitchen.

The Theresa I know would never consent to this. She's too independent to let anyone carry her. I'm surprised that I even have the strength to lift her. Even my bones are tired.

I don't know what else to do. We can't lose this baby.

She's scared and I'm scared and I have to make this okay.

This baby … it's become everything. Theresa and our child are the center of my life now.

"Ryan, what about Ma?" I have just put her in the passenger seat of her car. Eva is slightly better, she can get out of bed and make it for short distances to the bathroom but she's hampered by her paralyzed left side. She gets tired after only a few steps. She can't be left alone.

"Let me run across the road and see if Mrs. Duncan can come over."

I hurry over to the widow's house. She's a few years older than Eva, but she doesn't have a family of her own anymore. She used to be a regular at Eva's barbecues but now she rarely comes outside. She stops in to sit with Eva a couple of times a week. I knock as patiently as I can. I put my hand on the railing of her porch for support.

"Ryan, how are you? Is everything all right?" She smiles innocently. If she only knew.

"I have to take Theresa to the hospital. Can you sit with Eva for a little while?"

"Of course. Go ahead. I'll walk over as soon as I get my shoes."

"Thanks." I run back to the car and get into the driver's seat.

"Is she coming?"

"Yes."

We ride in silence for several minutes. I don't know what to say so I drive.

"You're mad, aren't you? That I got you out of work?" Her voice is timid.

"Theresa, I'm not mad."

"But you're shaking … and you aren't talking to me."

I didn't realize that I'm still shaking. I take one hand off the wheel and reach over to take her hand. "I'm not mad; I'm worried."

"If I lose the baby … you'd leave me."

"Please don't talk like that."

"It would make everything so much easier."

"We are not losing this baby. Look at me." I sense that she turns her gaze on me but I don't take my eyes off the road. We have to get to the hospital. "We're going to make it through this."

''She squeezes my hand. She doesn't know that I'm lying. I don't know either. All I know is that we can't lose this baby. Not after all we've been through. We can't lose this baby.

----------------------/------------------------------/---------------------------/---------------------

I wish I could smoke. I'm dying for a smoke. I think that I might fall over if I don't get some nicotine into my system.

We sat in that damned room for over three hours. Doctors, nurses, P.A.'s, all kinds of fucking medical people poked and prodded Theresa until she didn't have any tears left behind her sad eyes.

I swear that she's bruised my hand with her squeezing. She hasn't said much, not since the last doctor told us that she can go home.

"You okay?" I break the thick silence.

"What are we going to do?"

I know what she's talking about. The doctors have told us that Theresa shouldn't work, that her pregnancy has become complicated. They say she should stay off her feet as much as possible. Waitressing is, in their opinion, out of the question. She shouldn't work at all. I don't know if I can support us with my job alone. They also want her to visit a specialist once a week.

"We'll work it out, Theresa. It's going to be fine."

"You can't be serious. We can't afford this."

"I'll work it out."

"How? You going to ask the Cohens to support us?"

She's tired. I don't take offense at her harsh tone, I'm too tired. "I don't want you worrying about this."

The doctor interrupts us. He has a stack of paperwork for her to go over when she gets home detailing how she can take care of herself. He hands me another stack of paperwork that I have to fill out for the financial rep. Theresa wouldn't let me leave her to meet with the lady, but I have made an appointment to talk to her about a payment plan in a couple of days. I don't want Theresa to know anything about the money. She can't do anything about it and worry's not going to solve this problem.

We don't talk on the way to the car. I know she's upset but we can't talk about it right now, it's too soon.

Once I pull onto the highway, she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides over on the seat to lean against me. I put an arm around her.

"I'm sorry."

"You're going to be fine. You just have to take it easy."

She doesn't reply. I focus on the road. We're home before I realize it. I get out and open the door to her side. I offer her a hand and she accepts. We walk toward the house together.

"I'm not going to tell Ma. She doesn't need to know. We can just tell her that it was nothing serious and we decided to have dinner while we were out." Theresa informs me of her plan as step onto the porch.

"Okay." I have to blink the exhaustion from my vision. "Do you want to talk to her?"

"Yeah. I want to get cleaned up first. I feel dirty from all those people examining me."

I loop an arm around her shoulders and we walk inside.

"I'll draw you a bath, okay?"

"You fixed the tub?"

I nod. I leave her by the counter and go to Eva's room. I thank Mrs. Duncan and she gives me a gentle hug. I'm so tired that I can't even focus on her words. Eva's asleep so I return to the kitchen.

"How'd you afford to fix the bathtub, Ryan?" Theresa asks. She's sitting at the kitchen table.

"It had to be fixed, didn't it? I mean, it leaked and it was ruining the floor." I can see in her eyes that she's angry.

"We could have used that money for something else!"

"Theresa, if I hadn't fixed the tub, the floor would have rotted out and that would cost a hell of a lot more than the damned tub." I don't mean to be harsh but this is trivial bullshit right now. She just got out of the fucking hospital and she's bringing up this shit.

"Dammit, Ryan, we can't afford it!"

"We'll make it work. I told you that I'll take care of it!"

She glares at me with worried eyes. I don't know if I've raised my voice at her since I moved in. We used to argue like auctioneers, so loud that the neighbors could hear our fights, but this is the first time in our new relationship that I've actually been loud.

I turn my back to her and stagger slightly as another wave of dizziness me. I don't want to be my father, yelling at my wife. I don't want to be my mother, yelling just because I can. I don't want to be angry. I want to be better than that. I have to recover. I lean heavily against the sink with a sigh.

"Ryan …."

"I want you to focus on the baby. That's all that matters. I'll take care of everything else." I

keep my voice even. I'm not angry. I'm just tired.

"You can't do this all by yourself." She's beside me now. "Are you all right?"

"I'm going to go draw you a bath." I don't have time for her concern. I need to get her settled in so I can start readjusting the finances. I need some quiet so I can process the rest of the day.

"Ryan, wait …," she calls out to me, but I have to focus. I continue into the bathroom and start running water into the tub. I drop some of those salts she likes into the warm water.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. I don't even recognize myself. I haven't had a haircut since I lived with the Cohens; it's long and shaggy but there's been no time. I need a shave. My eyes are sunken in. Damn, I look like hell.

But everything's okay. I can do this. The baby is okay. Theresa's okay. I can do this.

I leave the water running and return to the kitchen to put on the kettle for Eva's tea, only to find Theresa staring blankly at the answering machine.

"What?" Her expression tells me something's wrong.

"They fired me. I forgot to call my boss today. I didn't think, I just called you … I didn't think that …." She starts to cry. Dammit, I don't know if I can do this again.

"Hey, stop that. I don't want you to cry anymore today, all right? I want you to relax. Come on, let's get you in the tub."

She lets me lead her into the bathroom. She sits down on the toilet, almost dazed. I undress her and then help her step in. She leans her head against the edge of the tub.

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome. I'm going to check on your mother but I'll be right outside if you need me."

"You can join me, you know. You look like you could use a long soak."

"Are you saying I'm dirty?" It feels good to joke.

"No, I'm saying that … you have to take care of yourself better than you've been doing. You look like you're about to collapse."

I lean over and kiss her gently on the forehead. "I'm fine. I promise. I'll be right outside."

I return to the kitchen, quickly make a single cup of tea before heading back toward Eva's room. I blink away my tiredness and open the door.

"Eva?"

"Ryan. Everything okay?" Her eyes mirror Theresa's, sad and full of unshed tears.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Heard you fighting." I walk over to the bed, place the mug on the nightstand and approach her with the glucometer.

"Sorry. We're not fighting." I give her a smile.

She is silent as the needle pricks her finger and gives me a reading. It's within range and I give her another smile.

She reaches up and puts her hand against my cheek. "You're a good boy. I can't tell you how happy I was to hear that you're going to marry Theresa. I just hope I'm well enough to sit in the front row and see it."

Whoa. This is news. Even through her garbled words, I get the message loud and clear.

Theresa hasn't mentioned anything to me. I know how religious Eva is, I know that Catholics aren't supposed to have babies out of wedlock but … I haven't even considered this.

"Ryan? Are you all right?" Her slur is worse. I know she's tired.

"I'm fine. Do you need anything?"

"No, honey, I'm okay." She smiles. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just call if you need something." I step into the hallway and lose my vision again. I grab onto the door frame as I try to blink away the spots.

This is not good. I need coffee. I need a break.

Once the spots fade, and my vision returns to normal, I finish what remains of the walk to the kitchen. I turn on my computer and lower myself onto one of the stools.

The phone rings. I choose to ignore it. I've refused to answer the phone since I've come here, but now that Theresa and Eva are bedridden, I suppose it's up to me. Whoever's calling hangs up before the machine can click in. I'll get it next time.

The screen shows forty-four new messages. Again, nothing from Seth. I habitually start another email.

Why are you doing this? You're killing your parents. They don't sleep.

You're killing me… Fuck, Seth. COME HOME.

Send.

I sift through the other notes. Marissa's gone from begging me to call her, to swearing in the subject line. Kirsten sent me a note that simply states that she misses me.

"Any news?"

I lift my head above the screen. Theresa's wrapped in a towel, letting down her hair.

I shake my head. I need _something_ to go right.

I rub my eyes with the balls of my hands.

"You should get some sleep, Ryan. You've been up all night."

"You should lie down," I throw back at her. My words come out harsher than I'd intended. I don't need her to tell me how long I've been awake. I'm well aware. "The doctor said you shouldn't be on your feet."

I close the lid to my laptop, slide off the stool and grab her keys from the end of the counter. "I'm gonna pick up your prescriptions."

She puts a hand on my back as I walk past.

"Promise me you'll lie down?" I plead with her.

She nods and replies with something that's drown out by the squeak of the door.

"I mean it, Theresa."

"I said I will." She sighs in frustration before heading back down the hall. I noisily close the door behind me. At least I have Theresa's car.

---------------------/-----------------------------/-----------------------------/--------------------

I grab the paper bag containing Theresa's prescriptions off the seat beside me. The drugs cost a fortune. Our finances are getting tighter every day. But this is for the baby, and I can't do anything to jeopardize the health of our baby.

I stop on the porch and sit down under the glaring, afternoon sun while retrieving my last cigarette from its pack. I can't afford to smoke, but I can't quit now. It's the only thing keeping me sane through all this mess.

The lack of breeze allows the flame to last long enough for me light the smoke on the first try. I place the bag of drugs and lighter on the step beside me and inhale deeply. Bowing my head and closing my eyes, I hold the smoke down in my lungs for a couple seconds before slowly exhaling.

The heat of the sun washes over me and my muscles start to relax. I continue to hold my position while carefully enjoying every drag.

The sound of gravel under tires pulls me from my euphoria. I squint and hold my free hand over my eyes. A black car rolls to a stop and Sandy emerges from the driver's side.

I remove my hand and set my eyes drift back to the step below me and take one last drag off the smoke before tossing it onto the lawn.

-------------------------/-----------------------------/-------------------------/------------------------

"Ryan!" Sandy jogs up the walkway toward Ryan.

Ryan turns his head and rids his lungs of a cloud of smoke before responding.

"Hey," is all he can come up with. He starts to stand but stops when Sandy comes up to join him, pushing the paper bag and lighter to the side before sitting down. Sandy doesn't comment on the smoking. He just wants to be near one of his sons.

He places an arm around Ryan's shoulder and pulls him in close. "It's good to see you, kid." Sandy makes a point of calling him "kid" as a subtle reminder.

"You too," Ryan replies genuinely with a small smile.

"I've tried calling. Have you gotten my messages?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just been busy."

Sandy nods and accepts the excuse for now. "How're things? How's Theresa?"

"She's sleeping right now. We had a doctor's appointment this morning. Wore her out."

Ryan clenches his hands together but doesn't say another word.

"But she's okay?"

"Yeah." Ryan turns to face Sandy with heavy eyelids. "She's fine."

"Good. That's good …." Sandy's voice trails off as he scans the surroundings. Hundreds of cigarette butts litter the lawn. He hopes they aren't all from Ryan.

"Nothing on Seth?"

The sound of his son's name causes Sandy to sigh unsteadily. He shakes his head from side to side in obvious sorrow.

"I keep emailing him," Ryan pauses, and turns away as tears fill his eyes.

Sandy rubs a hand over Ryan's back while fighting his own emotions.

After taking several seconds to compose himself, Sandy continues. "Have you spoken to the girls? Marissa? Summer?"

Ryan bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. His eyes remain set on the steps below.

Sandy was expecting more from Ryan. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but more. The kids seems more separated than he had been that fateful day in juvie.

He scans Ryan with his eyes. He's thin, and looks like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't want to think about why. That's not why he's here. He just wants to be with him - close to him. There will be plenty of time to worry later. He's sick to death of worrying all the time.

The silence continues for several more awkward seconds.

"Do you want to go grab some coffee somewhere?"

Ryan appears almost started by Sandy's voice, and runs a hand over his face while sighing.

"I've got to get these to Theresa," he states, reaching behind him to grab the bag containing the prescriptions.

Sandy nods, saddened that he can't even convince his son to have a coffee with him. He thought for sure, that by the look of Ryan, coffee would be the deciding factor. The kid's obviously shrouded by exhaustion.

Ryan catches Sandy's defeated eyes and nods lightly. "Let me just run these inside."

Sandy can't stop the grin from forming on his face.

Ryan presses his hands on his knees to stand. Almost immediately, he stumbles forward. Sandy reacts quickly, rising to his feet and grabbing Ryan's arm. The kid appears to steady himself.

"Are you all right?"

Ryan's eyes are closed, but he nods and swallows. After a couple seconds, his tired eyes are revealed but he turns his face away from Sandy's concerned glare.

"Ryan, are you all right?" Sandy repeats the question as if he hadn't been heard the first time.

Ryan casually shakes off Sandy's grip before responding. "Yeah, I just stood up too quickly."

Sandy tilts his head, his skepticism evident.

"I'll be back in a few seconds," Ryan says quietly before disappearing into the house.

Sandy tries not to be insulted at not being invited in, assuming that Ryan probably just doesn't want to wake Theresa.

He turns and watches the children next door play in their sandbox. All the three kids barely fit in the small play area, and are shoving one another as each one invades the other's personal space.

"Michael! Megan! Sammy! Dinner!"

The call comes from inside the house. The little girl bounces to her feet, her dress dusted with a layer of sand. She grabs the hand of the smallest boy and literally drags him in behind her. He protests and leans back toward the sandbox as it appears he is unwillingly being separated from his favorite toy.

The oldest boy continues to play with his Tonka trucks, enjoying the new space and making all the noises that would accompany the real-life machinery.

After several seconds, he is beckoned once again. "Michael!"

Sandy cringes. He's sure the entire neighborhood can hear this women summon her children.

The boy doesn't move but continues to indulge in his imaginary construction site.

A man's voice finally booms from the interior of Ryan's old house. "Michael! Get your ass in here, now!"

Sandy watches the boy's body seize with tension. He instantly drops his toys and stares at the house, motionless.

Sandy hears the creak of the door as Ryan returns, but he can't tear his eyes away from the scene playing out in front of him.

A man emerges from inside, storms out to the edge of the porch and holds up a warning hand. The boy leaps to his feet and bolts into the house. The gruff looking man swears under his breath and follows the child indoors, dramatically slamming the door behind him.

Sandy shakes his head. It breaks his heart to see children responding through fear.

He turns to Ryan, whose eyes are unfocused as he stares at his old home. Depressed, Sandy sighs. "It's sad … seeing kids go through that."

Ryan doesn't meet Sandy's eyes. "They shouldn't have to …."

"No, you're right, they shouldn't." Sandy responds by patting Ryan's shoulder supportively.

"They're kids; where are they supposed go or hide?"

To Sandy's surprise, Ryan answers the rhetorical question. "They learn to be invisible."

Sandy's confused by the comment, but doesn't push Ryan for an explanation. He's not so sure he wants to know, anyway. He's eager to change the subject. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Ryan sighs, leading the way down the steps to the luxurious, Cohen car.


	4. Chapter Three

__

A/N- Thanks so much for the wonderful abundance of reviews on the last chapter. We hope that everyone enjoys this one just as much. Just remember, there's no sunshine in The Chino....

__

Also, in response to the person who reviewed saying how they can't understand why Ryan would stay if he found out it wasn't his baby. We can answer that in two words: Hero Complex. It's annoying, but we love him anyway.

The Chino

Chapter Three

"Ryan? Can you get me some more water?" Theresa's voice calls from the bedroom.

I sigh despite my decision not to and return to the sink with a clean glass. I'm so fucking tired, but it seems like that's going to be a permanent condition. I have too much to do and not enough time or energy to do it.

Theresa means well. She shouldn't be up and around, and when I'm home, I won't allow it. She has to stay in bed if she wants to keep this baby. And she wants this baby. We both do.

Between her and Eva, my time at home is more tiring than working on the line at the factory. I try to sleep when I can but there's just too much going on when I'm here. I work all night and when I get home, they're just waking up.

My hands are shaking as I fill the glass from the tap. I drop a couple of ice cubes into the water like she likes it. She can't get dehydrated; her condition is too volatile right now.

She's been going to the doctor once a week since her scare but they won't tell us anything definite except that she needs to keep her stress and activity levels to a minimum. Easy for those fucking doctors to say, they don't know her. She's one of the most active people I've ever met and staying in bed is driving her crazy.

I go to the door and open it quietly as I hear Eva call out my name.

"Thanks, Jeeves," Theresa teases as she accepts the glass.

"Whatever." I don't smile; I'm too tired. I pause for a second and blink away the white spots from my vision. I've been dizzy for days, but I can't stop yet. At least after tonight, I'll have an entire 24 hours off. I intend to sleep and work on the nursery. I want it to be ready incase Theresa delivers early. I know I have months, _several tiring months_ to go yet, and I know that as intense as these first few months have been, the final ones will be even more hectic.

I walk into Eva's room.

"Hey, honey." Her speech has improved a lot over the last couple of weeks.

"Did you need something?"

"I just checked my sugar. Do you think you can give me a shot?" She smiles sadly. I know she hates asking, but she's still not yet confident enough in her own ability to do it herself.

"Sure." I go to the dresser where we keep her insulin, pull out a fresh syringe and sit down on the bed beside her.

"You take good care of us, Ryan." She smiles. She pulls up her nightshirt to reveal her plump abdomen. I keep my eyes on her face as I give her the shot.

"Well, you and Theresa are my girls."

"Thank-you."

"I'm leaving for work in about half an hour, so just let me know if you need anything else. I'll check on you before I go."

"You're a good boy."

I close the door to her room and step into the hallway. I'm extremely dizzy all of a sudden. I take a few unsteady steps toward the kitchen but quickly realize that I'm not going to make it that far. I lean heavily back against the wall and slowly slide down until I feel the floor beneath me.

I just need a minute to get myself together. I just need a minute.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes to try to clear my blurry vision. I blink, but it's no better. I just need a minute.

--------------/--------------------/--------------------/-----------------------

"Ryan. Ryan?"

I snap alert at the sound of my name. Theresa's kneeling beside me, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You should have left for work already .... What're you doing?" Her eyes are bright with worry.

I glance at my watch. Fuck. What was I thinking?

"Shit, I have to go." I abruptly rise to my feet. I'm glad that I'm already dressed. If I leave right now, I can still make it on time.

"Ryan, are you all right? Were you sleeping in the hallway?"

"No, I'm fine, I just … I wasn't paying attention." I kiss her on the cheek and start for the door. I stop before exiting the hallway. "Why are you out of bed?"

"I had to use the bathroom," she replies, confusion clearly written across her features.

"Okay, but you know that you --"

"Have to stay in bed, I know, but…."

I don't wait for her to finish, I have to go. I have to go to work.

Focus. It's all about focus.

I start Theresa's car and try to focus on what I have left to do today as I'm driving.

I've given Theresa her meds. I've given Eva her meds. I've made supper for them and Mrs. Duncan is going to come over and make sure they eat. I paid the power and water bills yesterday. I'll pay the latest medical bills when I get home in the morning after I cash the check that I got in mail from Sandy. I hate excepting money from the Cohens, but right now, I can't turn it down.

As I rush into the factory and punch in - only a minute late - I know that I'm back in control. I can do this. It's all about focus. I can focus on work and in twelve hours. I can go home … and focus on that again.

'

-----------------/-------------------/--------------------/------------------

"Hey, kid. Kid. C'mon, wake up."

Who the fuck is talking to me? I open my eyes.

"Damn, kid, we were, like, two seconds away from calling an ambulance."

"What?" I realize that I'm at work. On the floor. With all these people standing around.

Shit. I sit up.

"You've been working too much, kid. You're exhausted. Go home." The supervisor, Harry, is leaning over me. After he let me leave early a few weeks ago, he's been more than civil to me. He respects that I'm a good worker and he knows that I need this job.

"You're sending me home?"

"You're dead on your feet."

Several of the men hovering around step back to give me my space.

"I swear, I'm fine now. I need this job." I never thought I'd sound this fucking desperate.

"You're not fired, I'm just sending you home. You're in no shape to be here. We've got a big shipment coming in next week and we need you at 100 percent. Go home. You're off tomorrow and when I see you back here on Monday, I want you to be up to par, okay?"

"Okay."

I can't believe I passed out. At work, no less.

"Get some fucking sleep, you're making me tired." Harry gives an understanding smile.

"I'll clock you out. Just go."

"Thanks." There's not much else I can say.

I make it to the car and sit motionless in the driver's seat for several minutes. The relatively cool night air is such a relief from the stifling heat of late. I can feel my elbow swelling and I assume that's what broke my fall. My head's still spinning, which probably means the road will be spinning. I just need a couple minutes to clear my mind.

A car horn off in the distance pulls me from my half-sleep. I start the car. I'll be here all night if I don't go now.

I drive home in a fog. I've been in this fog for quite a while but something's different ... it's dark and I'm on my way home.

Theresa's going to ask why I'm home so early. I glance at my watch. 10:45. I only made it through four hours. I hope they're sleeping. I could use the rest.

I park the car in the driveway and toss my cigarette onto the curb. I slowly make my way toward the house. All the lights are off. I unlock the door and try to silence the squeaking by gently guiding it shut behind me.

Flipping on the light, I sit down heavily at the counter. I open the laptop and scan for new messages. Nothing from Seth. My hands are shaking as I scroll down with the arrow keys.

Where is he?

Why the fuck can't he just call or something?

I shove the laptop in frustration and it slides off the counter and slams onto the floor

I put my face in my hands and try to take a few deep breaths. I can't tell if it's just me or the humidity, but the air feels thick and heavy.

He isn't dead. He can't be dead.

"Ryan? You scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here?"

Theresa. I feel her arm loop around my waist.

I don't bother removing my face from my palms.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think Seth's dead?"

She doesn't answer. I lower my hands and look at her. I need an answer.

"I … I don't know, Ryan." Her eyes search my face as if I have the answer, but I don't. "I think that if he's anything like his parents then … then it'll take a lot more than a few waves to keep him down."

I lower my gaze. God, I hope she's right.

"He'll come home," she whispers softly as she hugs me.

I pull her close. I need her close right now. Before Seth, Theresa was my closest friend. Now she's all I have left.

"Did something happen at work?"

"Boss sent me home."

"Why? Did you get laid off?" Her eyes grow wide with fear.

"No. I … I think I'm more tired than I thought."

"Ryan …." She rubs my back gently.

"I don't know what happened. I think I collapsed or something."

"You…. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I accept the concern on her face. I can't bother fighting the little things anymore.

"Ryan, we can't afford this right now."

I can't believe my ears. I can't even look at her. I pull away from her embrace. "It's just one night's pay … I worked four hours."

"You know that's not what I mean …."

Do I? I'm just a paycheck. I'm too tired to be anything else.

"We can't afford for you to get sick like this. You're … you're running yourself into the ground."

"What else can I do? We're barely keeping our heads above water as it is, Theresa!"

"I hate this!" she snaps suddenly, shoving me. "I hate it, Ryan!"

I wait for the tears but they don't come, just anger.

"I hate having to depend on you, I hate that you think you have to take care of me! It's not fucking fair!" She closes her eyes for a long moment. "But I can't do this without you… don't you know how much that kills me?"

I do. She's never had to depend on anyone but herself. She's independent and totally self-sufficient. I know how hard it is to not have control. I'm all she has.

"But I need you right now."

She should be in bed.

She takes my face in her hands. I look into her eyes. Pale and beautiful. Sad. She's so sad.

"I need you, Ryan. I need you to be strong and healthy. I need you to be safe."

"I'm sorry …."

She pulls me into her arms again. She used to be so strong but she's too scared right now. Neither of us know what to expect - what's next.

"I am here, Ryan. You never talk to me, but I'm here."

"I know."

"Then talk to me. Don't let this take over your life."

"You are my life now, Theresa."

"But I miss _you_. I want _you_ back."

"I'm just tired."

"Then rest. Sleep. C'mon, come to bed with me."

The phone rings. I turn toward it.

"You should get that. Then come to bed."

I reluctantly answer the phone, too tired to argue as she retreats back into the bedroom.

"Can I speak to Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Chino?"

Summer.

"Summer. How are you?"

"Oh, fine," she lies. I can hear the pain in her voice.

"I haven't heard from him."

"I know."

It's nice to hear her voice. Seth loves her so much.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"You sound about as convincing as I do."

"He'll come home, Summer. He'll come to his senses."

"What if he doesn't? What if he's met some beach whore and he forgets about us? What if he's …." I know why she stopped speaking.

"He's not."

"But what if he is?"

"He's not."

"How do you know?"

"I'd know." I'd know if he was dead. "You'd know, too. You are everything to him,

Summer."

"But he left."

"He didn't leave you. I have no concept of the way Seth Cohen's mind works, God knows, but I know that he loves you."

She laughs.

"I'm sure in his twisted mind, he thinks he did what he had to do."

"I know … but this … this …." She stumbles on her words.

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

I close my eyes. "How is she?"

"Do you really want to know? Because …."

"I still care, Summer. But … but I have to be here."

"I know. She knows, too. But it doesn't make it easier."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that, too." She sighs. "She'll be okay. She's getting better."

"Good. I know you're taking good care of her."

"How's Theresa?"

"She's fine."

We are both silent. Talking to Summer makes me feel closer to Seth.

"Why don't I totally believe you?"

"I don't know."

"Is everything okay?"

"We're working through it."

"Is the baby okay?"

"Everything's fine."

"I'm sure you're taking good care of her, but … how are you?"

"I'm okay."

She sighs again.

I break the silence after a few seconds. "He'll come home. He has to."

"Yeah, I mean, we're waiting for him."

"Yeah."

The peaceful silence returns.

"Well, Chino … I'll call you again sometime."

"Yeah. Thanks. It was good talking to you."

"Don't fall off the world without saying goodbye."

"I won't."

---------------/----------------------/----------------------/-----------------

I wake up alone in bed. Sunlight is streaming through the window across my face.

"Shhh, Ma. Don't wake up Ryan." I hear Theresa whispering.

Fuck, what is she doing? How long have I been asleep?

I sit up and swing my stiff legs off the bed.

"Oh, God, it's beautiful."

I open the bedroom door to see Theresa and her mother standing in the entrance of the nursery.

I had wanted it to be a surprise.

Theresa notices me and blushes with guilt, but she continues to smile.

"Theresa, Eva, neither of you should be out here."

Eva chatters excitedly in Spanish and grabs my arm as I approach, pulling me into a tight hug.

"It's beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Its … perfect," Eva finally speaks in English.

I smile at her enthusiasm.

"It's … it's beautiful. My baby's lucky to have you." She smiles over her shoulder at

Theresa, before slowly shuffling to her room.

Theresa wraps her arms tightly around my body once her mother's gone.

"You weren't supposed to see it yet," I scold, but it's so nice to see her so happy.

"I couldn't resist. I've been lying in that damned bed for weeks listening to you fuck around in here. I had to see it."

"And you like it?"

"It's … amazing."

The upper walls and ceiling are a sky blue, peppered with clouds and birds. The ceiling has transparent stars that glow in the dark. The carpet is a light green and there are trees and hills painted along the lower portions of the wall. I don't think anyone could even tell all the materials were extras and scraps that I barely managed to purchase from discount home renovation outlets.

"It's like nothing can touch this. This child is going to have everything that we never had. It's going to be made up of the best parts of both of us."

She kisses me and I believe her. Everything will be okay. We have time to pull out of this spiral.

I return her kiss. We both need this. A moment of happiness.

"Thank you," I murmur when she buries her face against my chest.

"For what?"

"For smiling. For making me smile."

"You did it." She pauses and pulls back to look at me. "How're you feeling?"

"Better." It's the truth. It's amazing what a few consecutive hours of sleep can do. I'm still tired, but not as lightheaded as was yesterday. "You should get back in bed. I'll make breakfast."

"Are there groceries?"

"Lie down, Theresa."

She kisses me again and I watch as she cautiously returns to the bedroom.

I wander into the kitchen. I stop to pick my laptop up off the floor, but I don't open it.

It's a new day, Theresa and her mother are happy, I've managed to get a few hours of sleep, and I don't want to start it off on a bad note. Seth has to come home on his own and no fucking email from me is going to bring him back.

I start bacon and eggs. Tea and juice. While the food cooks, I take Eva her meds.

I return to the stove and wait for the bacon to get crispy like Theresa likes.

In Newport, it took forever to make breakfast. Kirsten wasn't picky, she loved bacon of any kind. Seth liked it limp and chewy. Sandy and Hailey wanted it burnt and crunchy. Rosa hates bacon.

I scrape the eggs onto a plate and turn off the stove.

A loud thump and a crash emerges from one of the bedrooms. I bolt into the hallway.

"Ryan …."

I can barely hear her voice, but I see her kneeling on the floor beside the broken television.

"Theresa …." I search her body for injuries and try to ignore that her hands clutched over the mound on her stomach.

"I wanted to adjust the antenna … and the table started to tip … I didn't want the TV to fall and …."

"What's wrong?" Everything is wrong. She has to tell me differently.

She moans suddenly and crumples into my arms.

"It hurts … oh God …."

Her white sweatpants darken before my eyes. I blink. Blood.

No. No.

I have to do something.

My body works automatically. I have to shut everything else down. Automatic.

"C'mon, I've got you."

I lift her into my arms and she whimpers.

"It's okay …."

I stop in the kitchen to turn off the stove. Eva will be fine. I gave her morning meds and Mrs. Duncan comes by at noon.

I continue out to Theresa's car. She curls up in the seat, clutching her abdomen. Her eyes are closed in pain. She bleeds.

Ten minutes to the hospital.

I make it in five.

"C'mon, Theresa." I've parked the car and I am crouching beside her opened door.

"Ryan …." Her face is stricken, her eyes full of emotion. I can't see it. I can't think about it. Automatic.

I lift her from the car and stride into the hospital.

----------------/------------------/-------------------/-------------------

Seth had been waiting for three hours. There had been no lights on inside when the taxi brought him and he'd given up on the idea that anyone was inside.

The lady across the street had watched him for a while, but he was too nervous to go ask if she knew Ryan.

He hadn't considered that Ryan wouldn't be home. All he knew was that after Ryan's consistent daily emails, he had finally responded to one and there had been no reply. It scared him.

Seth had read every one. He had been trying to harden himself, shut off the pain of Ryan's abandonment. But the last one … he had to come home. He had to see his parents and Summer. He needed to see Ryan, most of all.

But no one was home.

So he'd wait.

He was waiting.

-----------------/-----------------------/--------------------/-------------------

"Honey, are you all right?"

I look up at the nurse's face. I'm numb. Is that all right?

"Is there anyone I can call for you?"

"No. I'm okay." Automatic.

"Okay. The doctor will come back soon."

"Can I see her?" They won't let me see her. She'd cried out for me earlier and it took three orderlies to pull me from the room. They have to let me see her.

"In a little while."

Fucking nurse. I need to see her. I cover my face again. I'm numb. I don't want to be here.

"Mr. Atwood? You can follow me." The doctor gives me a smile. Fucking doctor. I don't remember his name but that doesn't matter. Theresa matters. This baby matters.

I push past him into the room. Theresa is curled up in the crisp white sheets. I can see her face and … I know. It's over.

"Theresa …."

I go to the bedside and she takes my hand and puts it to her lips, kissing it silently.

I turn my hand and cup her chin. "Are you all right?" It's a stupid question. She's not all right.

"I'm okay. But …."

"It's okay." I don't want her to talk about it yet. I don't want to hear it yet.

"I lost it. They said … something … tore."

I can't hear this. I can't … I can't breathe.

"Ryan? Ryan, please … don't cry."

I _cannot_ hear this. She is holding me in her arms. I can't stop the tears, but I don't cry. Crying is different, these are just tears.

"Shhh. It's okay."

I let her hold me for a few moments until the numbness takes over again. She's the one in the hospital. She just lost her baby. I'm supposed to be the strong one.

"I'm sorry." I swipe at the tears on my face.

"Me, too." She hesitates. Her face is blank. "Listen to me. The doctors say they say I have to stay a couple of days. They might need to … to do a little maintenance."

"What?"

"I might need surgery, Ryan."

Something tore. Oh God. This can't be happening.

"Ryan?"

"I'm listening." I squeeze her hand and sit on the bed beside her.

"They say if they go ahead … if I need it … that I'll still might be able to have kids in a couple of years."

I nod. My eyes start to sting again and I blink rapidly.

"And I need you right now. I mean …."

"I'm here. For anything. Just tell me."

"Can you go home and call some people?"

"I'm not leaving you."

She smiles sadly and brushes a strand of hair from my eyes.

"I expect you to come right back. But my family … they need to know."

"Just give me names."

"Where's Ma?"

"Mrs. Duncan took her to her place."

"Good. I want to tell her myself."

"Theresa …."

"No, Ryan, I'm serious."

She's amazingly controlled. I'm shaking and she's completely composed.

"I'll do whatever you say."

I realize that the Theresa I know is gone. This woman beside me is not Theresa. She's lost too much. She's an empty shell. She's got nothing left.

We don't have anything left.

----------------/--------------------/--------------------/--------------------

As soon as Ryan walks out of her room, Theresa leans over and picks up the phone. She dials the number she'd memorized months before.

"Hello?"

"Can I speak to Mrs. Cohen?"

"Theresa? This is Kirsten, what's …."

"Ryan needs you."

"What?"

"I'm sorry he hasn't called. I know that's all my fault but …."

"It's not your fault, honey. What's wrong? What's wrong with Ryan?" Kirsten sounds like she's on the verge of panic.

"I … I lost the baby. I'm in the hospital …."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, I'm going to be okay, but Ryan … I've never seen him like this and … and I can't help him right now. He's too upset about Seth to call you himself. He won't burden you …."

"Theresa …."

"He's done so much for me, Mrs. Cohen, so I have to try … I have to try and do this for him."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at Chino Hills Memorial. I sent Ryan home to take care of some things. He'll be back in a little while. But tomorrow …."

"We're on our way. We'll be right there."

"It's late, visiting hours are over."

"We can wait. Anything you guys need. We'll be right there."

------------------/---------------------/---------------------/------------------

I park the car on the street in front of Mrs. Duncan's house. I had called earlier and she'd offered to take care of Eva at her place for as long as we needed. She didn't ask any questions, and I didn't give her any answers. She knew something was very wrong.

I grip onto the railing of her front porch and ring the doorbell. Within seconds, the kind, older lady is standing in front of me.

I clear my throat and try to find my voice. It comes out shaky and uneven. "Hi, Mrs. Duncan … I, uh … I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind, could Eva stay with you tonight?"

She reaches out and rubs my upper arm like she's my grandmother or something. "Of course. It would be my pleasure."

I nod and swallow, turning away. I blink a few times before turning to face her again. "Thank-you," I whisper.

She nods and smiles. "Anytime. If you need anything, let me know."

I nod again and try, unsuccessfully, to force a smile.

"Ryan," she calls to me before I reach the bottom of the steps.

I turn again and meet her kind eyes.

"I think you've got a visitor. A young man's been sitting on your porch all morning …."

She cranes her neck to look behind me. "Yes, I think he's still there."

I follow her eyes and my breath catches in my throat. My heart starts beating rapidly and I blink just incase my eyes are playing tricks on me again. Nope. He's here.

"Thank-you, Mrs. Duncan … for everything."

She smiles and gently closes her door.

I stare across the street. I can't tell for sure, but I think he might be sleeping. His head's resting on his knees which are pulled up into his chest.

I choke back the tears and try to compose myself as I slowly walk toward the house. Too much. There's been too much emotion to deal with today.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs leading to the porch, it becomes more than clear that he's asleep. I take the opportunity to pull out my smokes and lighter. He's here, and he's still going to be here after a smoke. I need a few minutes to think.

I lower myself onto the top step and light the cigarette. The numbness is starting to fade. I'm beginning to feel again. It's as if someone's just punched me in the gut several times.

This can't be happening. I took this life, I loved these people, I expected this baby. I _needed _this baby.

I take another drag. I'm too tired to stop the tears from falling again. They're just tears. It's just too much right now.

I don't know how we're going to get through this. The prospect of this family … it had become my purpose - my light at the end of the tunnel. It kept me going. And now, in an instant, that light's been taken away. All the work, the suffering, it was all right because I knew that my child would be happy. My child would be loved. My child would have a mother and father that would give _anything_ for its happiness. That was enough for me.

Now everything's black. I have no direction. There's nothing to work for, to suffer for, to sacrifice for. It's a sickening, cruel twist of fate and I don't know how we're going to make it. Our lives have grinded to a halt.

I raise the smoke to my lips again. My hands are shaking violently. The nicotine isn't cutting it today.

"Ryan?"

I don't turn toward the sleepy voice right away. Instead, I slowly exhale and swipe at the tears with the back of my hand, sniffling a few times and trying to suppress all the horrible emotions coursing through my body.

I hear the wooden boards creak as he moves toward me. I stand, and finally turn. He's darker than I'd ever seen him. He must have spent all his time in the sun. His hair is longer than usual, curled tightly in the humidity.

I meet his eyes. He smiles. I can't. He doesn't seem to care and pulls me into a hug. I return it, holding on tightly to the person that I'd dreaded I would never see again.

"Thank God you're back," I whisper.

He pulls away. And looks me over. "I thought I could do it. I thought I could stay away forever." He shakes his head sadly. "I was wrong."

I nod. "Your parents …." I can't finish my sentence. I feel like I'm choking.

"Yeah, I know. I'll call them. I just … I had to see you first."

"I can't tell you …." I swallow and blink several times again. My chest is tight and my throat dry. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you."

Seth smiles broadly. He feels the same way. I know he does.

"Where the fuck were you? I kept writing and you never responded … I was starting to think …."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He looks down at his hands. His eyes are filled with guilt.

"I'll tell you all about it. It was actually quite the learning experience."

I would expect no less from Seth. It's not like him to hold back on details, especially if it's something that he's excited about.

"You smoking again?" His eyes are scanning the lawn.

I should really use an ashtray.

I don't bother responding. I think he knows the truth.

"How are things going with you and Theresa?"

I pretend as if I don't hear him. It's not about us. It was never about us.

"I've gotta find Theresa's phone book." I know the comment is random, but I'm having a hard time thinking straight.

Seth shrugs. "Okay."

I shakily unlock the door and he follows me into the house.

"Tell me about your trip." I demand as I rifle through kitchen drawers. I need to get him talking. I need that comfortable, familiar voice telling me mindless stories.

"I wouldn't call it a trip, per se, but it was definitely an adventure. I just couldn't stay away, though."

I slam the top drawer shut and start on the second one.

"It was scary and fun and sad … I was lonely, but I needed to do it." He situates himself on one of the stools behind the counter as I continue to busy myself with my frantic search. "I sailed south to the border, sold my boat for more than it was worth, and used that money for food and board at cheap motels, some in Mexico, some here …." He continues to ramble. I hear him, but I'm not listening.

I close the second drawer with more force than is necessary, and move onto the third.

"…she was really nice, and sort of in the same situation as myself, so we traveled together for a few days. She was a few years older … it wasn't like that, though; she took care of me. Sort of like a big sister."

I slam the final drawer shut with all my might. I can't breathe properly. The room starts to spin and I close my eyes. Leaning forward, I grab onto the counter and try to force composure.

Seth's not talking anymore.

"Dude, are you okay?"

God, no. No. I can't tell him. Not now.

"I … I can't find it."

"Well, did she say where it is?" Seth is standing beside me now. He's confused. He doesn't understand.

I shake my head.

"Maybe it's in her room?" He says trying to be helpful.

Right. That makes sense.

I start down the hallway. It feels like everything's moving in slow motion. Seth follows at a distance, but doesn't come into the bedroom. I start with the desk, roughly pulling the drawer off the tracks and dumping its contents onto the floor.

Where's that fucking phone book?

The nightstand. I pull out the multiple pages of crossed-off places where Seth wasn't, and search underneath. It's not here. It's got to be here somewhere….

"Dude!"

Seth's voice comes from down the hall. I stop my frantic search, significantly out of breath. I need to calm down.

"This is incredible!"

I slowly walk out into the hallway. Seth's standing in the middle of the nursery, admiring the ceiling in awe. As much as I don't want to go in there … I have to.

I walk over to the bookcase and pick up the little ceramic horse that I found when I bought the crib.

"This room is awesome." He rotates, taking it all in. "You do this?"

I nod.

"When's the baby due?"

I feel sick. Seth raises his eyebrows when I don't answer.

"It's …." I can't.

"Ryan, what's going on, man?"

"You should go see your parents. They've …." I shudder as I try to take a deep breath. "They've been worried sick."

I replace the horse on the shelf and fold my arms across my chest.

"Did you find the phone book?" He changes the subject. Doesn't he care that his parents are absolutely heartbroken? They think they've lost their son, for Christ's sake.

"No. Look, Seth, you should call them. They need to know … know that you're okay."

He nods. "I know. I was just thinking that I would show up. I don't think I can talk to them over the phone …. Doesn't seem right, you know?"

"Then go. Go now."

"I, uh … I can't right now."

"Seth, GO!" I don't really mean to yell at him. I'm not in control.

"I don't have any money for a cab right now! Ryan, _what_ is going on? Where's Theresa? And why are you freaking out over a phone book?"

I keep my arms wrapped tightly around my chest and wander into the corner. Fuck. My stomach burns. My eyes sting.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.

I lean my forehead against the wall and focus on breathing. Focus.

"What wasn't supposed to happen?" He sounds scared.

I speak into the wall. I'm not even sure he can hear me. "I have to go back to the hospital."

"Back?" He's closer. "What happened?"

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. I can't say it. I shake my head and blink a few times.

"Theresa? The baby?"

I just nod. That will just have to do for now.

"Dude …. Ryan, I … I don't know what to say." He's close to tears. He doesn't know the half of it.

I need to get out of here. I have to get back to the hospital.

I feel that familiar numbness flooding back. I can't make those phone calls right now. I should be with Theresa.

I turn and walk past Seth. I know he's right behind me. He always is. I grab the keys out of my pocket and get in the car. He stops outside of the passenger's side door, as if asking for permission.

I close my eyes and nod.

"Don't! Let go!"

I turn my head to see the boy from next door is arguing with his mother. She has a firm grasp on his wrist and is trying to pull him into the house. The boy has other plans. He struggles - fights her with all the power his little body can muster.

Seth climbs into the car. I don't start it right away, but continue to stare out the window.

"Michael, I swear to God, if you don't come into the house right this minute!"

Her threats are empty. The boy knows it. He pulls away and plants his feet.

"Michael!" She's getting mad.

"Do you want me to tell your father you were being rude? Is that what you want?"

The boy shakes his head. The woman must play the "father" card often.

"What the hell's going on here?" The large, gruff man stumbles onto the porch. He's drunk. Dangerous.

"Why don't you tell your father, Michael? Huh? Tell him!"

"Do you want to get smacked?! Get the fuck into the house!" the man yells at the stubborn boy.

The boy walks slowly toward the door, then runs past his father as fast as he can.

"Why do you have to do that, huh. Why do you use those words?" the woman asks her staggering husband.

"They need discipline!" The man is slurring his words.

"They're just kids …."

"They're YOUR kids! I never wanted the little shits! That boy's nothing but trouble and you know it. God damned, fucking kids …." He stumbles back into the house. The woman follows obediently without any further objections.

"Ryan?"

I turn back toward Seth. He makes eye contact but doesn't say anything. I start the car and pull back onto the street.

I slowly drive back to the hospital. There's no reason to rush. Seth is silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him looking at me, then turning away. I'm too tired and upset to be bothered by his attention.

I walk quickly through the parking lot to the main doors. Seth jogs lightly to keep up. He still hasn't spoken. I try to make a beeline through the lobby, but a familiar voice causes me to stop dead in my tracks.

"Seth?!"

I look up to see Kirsten and Sandy standing at the receptionist's desk - both look equally shocked. Seth stands frozen, a good distance to my left.

What are they doing here?

Kirsten immediately bursts into tears, running to her son and pulling him into her arms; her knuckles turn white as she latches onto Seth's t-shirt.

Sandy finally snaps out of his trance and tearfully embraces his son. All three Cohens are crying in their own way. Their family is complete again. No more fear, grief and sorrow.

The nightmare is finally over.

I back away and accidentally bump into a nurse.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. She smiles and continues on her way.

I aim for the doors. I need air. Theresa needs me, but it's gotten harder again. Time. I just need some time. It'll get better. It can't get any worse.

I lean against the cool brick wall of the hospital, tilt my head back and close my eyes.

What are they doing here? How did they know?

Theresa? No one else knows. She must have told them. Somehow … God, she shouldn't be thinking about that. She should be thinking about herself. The surgery.

Surgery. We can't afford it. We'll make it happen, I just don't know how.

A shiver runs through my entire body. It's hot as fucking hell, and I'm shivering. I slide down the wall and sit on the pavement.

My stomach's churning violently. I swallow and link my hands behind my neck.

The numbness fades and I feel it all hit me like a sack of bricks. I lean my head on my knees. The wetness of my tears sinks through my jeans. My entire body shakes.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. This _wasn't _supposed to happen.

A warm hand rubs over my back and settles on my shoulder. A soft kiss is placed on top of my head. A sympathetic body sits next to me, holding me close.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie …." She chokes out the words between her own tears.

She runs her fingers through my hair and leans her head against my shoulder. She's a good mom. Seth's a lucky kid.


	5. Chapter Four

__

A/N - Thanks to all of you who left those kind reviews. We're so glad you're enjoying our little creation. It doesn't get any easier for poor Ryan, but I suppose that's to be expected in The Chino.

Disclaimer: Our egos force us to claim that porch, but unfortunately, we don't own Mr. Atwood, or any other original characters. In time, my friends... all in good time.

The Chino

Chapter Four

Kirsten isn't sure she believes her eyes when she sees her son across the lobby. Sandy has been doing most of the talking, she's been spinning since getting the phone call from Theresa.

"He won't burden you."

God, Ryan wasn't a burden, he had to know that, she has to prove to him that he's part of her family; so she had grabbed her husband and they had driven to the hospital where Theresa had said she was staying.

But that isn't what's taken her breath. It's Seth. He's more tanned than she remembers and she thinks he's taller but she suddenly realizes that it's because he's standing beside a much shorter, hunched over boy. The boy is Ryan. She doesn't let herself think about how totally awful he looks. She can only see Seth right now. Is it really him?

"Seth?" she calls, and watches as both boys freeze. She can't stop herself from crying as she rushes over to him and embraces him. She feels Sandy beside her shortly after.

She can't stop crying. She never thought she'd see him again. Somehow, she'd known he was alive but that didn't mean that he'd come home to her. He's her son, her baby boy, and he's so solid in her arms. He's not disappearing when she grips his shirt. He's real. He's really back.

"God, Seth. Where the hell have you been?" Sandy manages to get out, pulling Seth into a hug once Kirsten lets go.

She has so many questions, she has so many worries. Has he been eating? Has he been taking care of himself? Has he used any sunscreen at all?

"Where'd Ryan go?" Seth asks, not answering his father's question. His eyes are clouded with worry.

"He was right here …. How is he?" Sandy asks.

"I don't know … I've never seen him like this," Seth says honestly.

"What are you doing here?" Sandy continues, confused but completely relieved to see his son. Kirsten knows that the lectures will come later but for now, her husband's just happy to see his son alive and well.

"I spent my last money on cab fare to Ryan's house. I … I just needed to see him first. He wasn't home, so I waited for him," Seth explains. "He called you guys?"

"No, we haven't talked to him in weeks. It's been hell, Seth, here without you," Sandy admits.

Kirsten has to find Ryan. No matter how happy and overjoyed she is to see Seth, she has to talk to Ryan. She glances around the lobby and a swinging door to the parking lot catches her attention. Why would he run? Why didn't he wait for us? We just want to help him.

She follows her instincts and heads outside. She glances around and sees him off to her left. A shiver of dread rushes through her chest.

He's in such pain. He's so broken. He did everything he could to make a life for this child and in an instant, everything's been taken away. She knows how he feels. He's lost his child.

She's never seen him cry before. His face is hidden as his forehead is resting against his knees, but she can sense his tears.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie …." She sits down on the dirty pavement beside him and places a hand on his shoulder. He's shaking so hard that she fears he'll break into pieces. He's shattered and all she wants to do is give him some strength to help him through.

When he finally raises his head to look at her, she can barely contain her surprise. His eyes are dull and clouded with conflicting emotions. She never claimed to be able to read him, but there's got so much pain and anger and hurt in his eyes, that she knows that he's barely holding it together. His face is drawn and lined with age that he doesn't deserve.

The circles under his eyes are darker than bruises.

"Thanks," he murmurs. She squeezes his shoulder and a shudder runs through his body from the gesture.

"Are you okay?" She regrets her question immediately. He visibly steadies himself and makes himself strong for her. He won't let her think he's weak. She loves him and she hurts seeing him put on a mask for her.

"I'm okay. I have to get back to Theresa."

"Theresa called me. She said that she was worried about you and …," Kirsten begins as Ryan pulls himself unsteadily to his feet, wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his trembling hand.

She gets up and stands beside him. She reaches for him but he takes a step back.

"I can't do this right now …."

"Ryan …."

"You should go be with your son."

She's stricken by his flat words but she forces herself not to react by allowing him to push her away.

"I am trying to take care of my son. We came for you, Ryan."

"I can't do this with you here," he says suddenly.

"What?" Kirsten replies softly, outwardly confused.

"Theresa … she thought she was doing the right thing but … but I'm barely … I can't … It's too much with you guys here … right now …." His quiet voice wavers unsteadily. He runs a hand over his face and blinks rapidly several times.

"We're here to help you through, Ryan."

"I know, and it means a lot to me … but this is my problem."

"You're family. It's _our _problem …." Kirsten forces herself not to get upset. She has to get through to him. She's been so caught up in the loss of her other son that she didn't take care of the one she still had. Ryan's been in Chino for months and from the look of him, he hasn't been taking care of himself. She's failed him as a mother. She didn't help him; she put him out on his own to take care of himself and she didn't consider that he couldn't handle it. The sporadic phone calls and single-lined emails had almost convinced her that he was fine.

But nothing is fine right now.

"I have to get back to Theresa."

"She'll be fine, Ryan." Kirsten tries to assure the emotionally distraught teen.

"She's not fine. She's anything but fine and I'm all she has …," Ryan says in a burst. He stops himself and takes a deep breath. He meets her gaze with cold eyes. She realizes that all his emotion is gone. In an instant, he's transformed before her eyes.

"I'm all she has. I'll call you tomorrow."

"No, you won't, Ryan. You won't call. You never call." She says the words without thinking first. She can't do that anymore. She can't take any unnecessary risks. She can't scare him off.

He turns his back to her. His shoulders are tense and stiff. He's composed now, but his voice chills her. "You can think whatever you want about me. You can think I don't call because I don't care. You can think that if it makes you feel better, but I had hoped that you knew me better than that. I have to do this myself. I won't take your charity or your pity. I have to be with Theresa right now. It's not time for this. For any of this. I have to go …."

"Ryan," she calls out as he turns away. "We'll be here for you. Whatever you need …."

He walks away without responding.

As Sandy and Seth walk out, they pass Ryan. He doesn't look at them. Seth reaches out to touch his arm but his gesture can't generate a reaction from Ryan. He just keeps walking.

"Let him go," Kirsten whispers as she walks through the doors. The tears come again.

She's lost another son.

-----------------/------------------/------------------/--------------------

I knock softly on Theresa's opened door. The nurses recognize me and all give sympathetic smiles. I wonder what they think of us. They probably think we're just kids - that this miscarriage is for the best. But they don't know us. They don't know what's happened to us.

The lights are off in her room but I can see her eyes shining in the darkness.

"Ryan …." Her voice is wracked with sobs.

Oh God.

I walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge beside her. She molds herself against my body, tightly wrapping her arms around me. I notice the IV in her hand and I carefully arrange it across the bed so she doesn't pull it out.

"It's okay, I'm here …." I won't leave her. Not now. Not after all this. I'll hold onto her forever if that's what she needs. I'm just glad that she's crying. Anything's better than the cold woman I saw earlier. I'd rather her be sobbing than pretending everything is fine.

That's my job. I'm here to make sure everything's fine for her.

"I got scared. I thought you wouldn't come back … I thought you'd go with them …," she chokes out.

"Who?" I'm so confused.

"The Cohens. I called them … but then … I don't want you to go yet. I need you … I'm sorry."

"I'm not going anywhere, Theresa," I brush her hair off her forehead. "I'm here for you. I promise. Don't worry." I rock her body gently until her tremors lessen. She pulls away.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was handling it … but I was alone and …."

"I won't leave you again."

She smiles gratefully. She looks so fragile - like she's made of glass.

"Did you make those calls?"

"I couldn't find your phone book."

Her face becomes thoughtful. A wave of realization washes across her features and she stiffens in my arms.

"What? I'm sorry, Theresa, I just couldn't find it …." I don't want her to be upset with me. I really tried to find it.

"No, it's not that. The last time I had it … I was at Eddie's. I think it might still be there …," she admits, not meeting my gaze.

Fuck. That's just what I need. That bastard has her phone book. I won't get upset. She

can't see me upset. It's not good for her.

She looks at me pleadingly. "It's the only place with all the phone numbers in it, Ryan. I need that … I don't know the numbers."

Fuck. I can do this. "Okay. I'll get it for you."

"You said you wouldn't leave me …," she gasps. Her fingers dig into my back as she pulls me closer.

"I …." What does she want me to do? She says she needs the book but she won't let me leave? Okay. I can figure this out. "I'll call him, okay? See if he'll bring it over."

"Really? You'd do that for me?"

Doesn't she know by now that I'll do anything for her? Anything.

"Of course. Let me just step outside to the payphone."

"Don't leave me …."

She's bruising my flesh. I can't leave her. I rub her back. "Okay, I'll use this phone. Why don't you try and lie down?"

"It hurts …."

I'm immediately alarmed. Should she still be in pain? Aren't they taking care of her? She just lost a baby, she shouldn't be in pain like this. "Theresa? Do you want me to call the nurse?"

"No … I mean, this hurts so much … losing ... everything."

"I know. I'm sorry." I don't know what to say, my words aren't working. I have no vocabulary, it's all just words.

"Ryan …."

"Just rest." I gently get off the bed and pull the chair within reach of both Theresa and the phone.

"You're really going to call him?"

"I'll do whatever you need, Theresa. Just tell me the number."

I try not to let my hands shake. Not in front of her. I'm not on automatic anymore; I'm just breathing. I can't feel anything now. I won't allow it. I can't break down and the only way I can maintain this composure is if I don't feel anything. I won't let Eddie get to me. This is about Theresa. It's not about me. It's not about that punk, Eddie. It's about Theresa and what she needs from me right now.

"Yeah?"

I recognize his voice. Theresa's hand squeezes mine tightly.

"Eddie. It's Ryan."

"Ryan. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Not really. Is Theresa's phone book lying around there anywhere?"

"What happened? Is something wrong? What did you do to her?"

I take a deep breath and try to ignore Theresa's burning gaze.

"Ryan?"

"Do you have the book, Eddie?" I'm too tired to argue with him right now. Stick to the plan. Just go through the motions.

"If you hurt her, I'll fucking kill you …."

"Eddie."

"Did she lose the baby?"

I have to answer him. He's an ass but he should know. Theresa would want him to know.

"Yeah."

"You fucking asshole. You bastard! I should've known you couldn't take care of her….

This would never have happened if she was with me!"

I close my eyes. It's like knives are cutting into my stomach.

"Give me the phone," Theresa demands. I shake my head at her.

"Eddie. Do you have the book?"

"I'll see if I can find it," he growls angrily.

"I'll wait." I listen as he puts the phone down.

"Ryan?" Theresa's searching for answers.

"He's looking." My voice is amazingly even.

"What did he say to you?"

"It's fine, Theresa. Just give him a minute to look around."

I hear movement over the phone. "I've got it."

"Good. Can you bring it to me?"

He pauses. "Where are you?"

"Chino Hills Memorial."

He sighs. "I'm on my way. Is she all right?"

"She's fine. I'll see you in few minutes." I slam the phone back onto the cradle and run my

hands through my hair.

----------------/---------------------/--------------------/-------------------

I walk outside and light up a cigarette. Theresa had allowed me to leave her alone for a few minutes while I try to intercept Eddie.

I inhale deeply, craving - _needing_ - the nicotine now more than ever. I wish it was stronger.

"Ryan."

I turn to see Eddie walking up. He has a cigarette dangling from his lips. He's angry. I couldn't care less.

"Eddie."

"What the fuck happened?" he demands.

"Did you bring the book?" He tosses the small red book at me. I snipe it from the air with one hand and slip it into my pocket.

"What the fuck happened, Ryan?"

"She lost it." What else is there to say?

He approaches. I can't react quick enough to pull away and out of his reach.

"What did you do to her?" He yells while grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently.

I can't believe this bastard is putting his hands on me. I can't believe it. Before I can recover and recompose, I throw a swift left hook that knocks him back several steps. I need to break something. Eddie's convenient. I continue to punch him, driving him against the wall and pounding my fists into his face and stomach.

Red. There's blood on my hands. I freeze. Step back.

"You little punk …." He starts to come for me but I continue to back away.

"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that …."

He freezes.

"It's not about us. It's about Theresa. It's not about us," I repeat under my breath.

His face is bleeding. I cut his lip. His nose is bleeding. He's … he's sad. He knows I'm right.

"You're right," he concedes.

"I'm sorry."

"But she's okay?"

"She'll be fine." I hope she'll be fine. I don't know what I'll do if she's not. She'll be fine.

"Can I see her?"

"Visiting hours are over."

He hesitates. His eyes flash. "But you're here."

"I'm family."

He turns away from me, wiping the blood from his face with a weary hand.

"Will you …."

"Will I what?"

"Will you tell her that I'm worried about her? And tell her …. Tell her."

I give him a nod. I'll tell her.

-----------------/------------------/---------------------/----------------------

Theresa's aunts and uncles crowd around her bed. They voice their sympathies in a mixture of English and Spanish. Her aunt Rita is crying and hugging Theresa while rocking back and forth. I take opportunity of the distraction and back out of the room unnoticed.

I've been sitting in that rigid chair for too long. I need a break. I need air.

The doctor informed us that Theresa would have to have the surgery. Tonight. I pray that she's strong enough to go through all that in light of all that's happened. As if she hasn't been through enough.

I called several members of her family first thing in morning, and they took only a short while to arrive. I told Theresa that I would have to go back to take care of things at home.

I think she understands. It's hard to tell. All night she was drifting in and out of control of her emotions. Near the end, I was no longer shocked when she'd suddenly burst into tears. Maybe I'm just too tired to react.

I can't sleep. Not yet. I have to get Eva from Mrs. Duncan's. I have to sort through our finances and try to _find_ money to pay for the enormous medical bills that will start arriving shortly. I have to go to work tonight because we _need _the money.

It kills me that I won't be able to be there when she comes out of surgery. I promised that I'd always be there for her but I have too many things to do and Theresa will have to accept her family's company instead of mine for the time being.

I park the car on the road in front of Mrs. Duncan's house. Depending on how Eva's feeling, I might have to pull up into our driveway so that she isn't forced to make the short walk. I flick my cigarette onto the street and approach the widow's house.

I hear shuffling inside before the door is cracked open a couple of inches. Mrs. Duncan's eyes peak through and she swings it open the rest of the way when she meets my eyes.

"Hi, Ryan. How are you doing, darling? How's Theresa holding up?" Her weathered face wrinkles with concern as she asks the questions.

I sigh. I'm sick of saying it. I'm sick of telling people that she's all right, that I'm all right, that everything's fine when it's anything but. Our imperfect world has completely fallen apart.

"Why don't you come in for a second. I can make you some tea. You look exhausted."

"No, thank-you. I appreciate it, really, but I'm just here to get Eva and I've got a million things to do at home …."

She frowns sympathetically. "That's fine. But I want you to get some rest. I can take care of Eva for a little longer if you want to go lie down for a little while. You really should, Ryan."

She means well, but I don't feel like arguing with this lady. I've got things to do - a schedule to meet.

"Thanks, Mrs. Duncan, but I should really just take Eva home."

The kind lady nods and steps back, allowing me to come inside. She leads the way toward the bedrooms. I stop her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Did you tell her?" I whisper.

Mrs. Duncan shakes her head. "No, but she's not stupid. She knew something was very wrong when I kept her here last night. She's worried."

I close my eyes and nod again as we continue down the hall. I know Theresa wanted to tell her, but I don't know how long I can withhold this information from her. She doesn't

deserve to be kept in the dark like a child.

I manage to get Eva home and settled without her asking any questions. Finally, as I prepare to check her blood sugar, she speaks.

"Tell me my Theresa's okay." Her voice is more unsteady than usual. I can tell the words hurt her.

I stop what I'm doing and meet her worried eyes. "Theresa's going to be fine."

I never thought about what she would think when I showed up back home without her daughter. She thinks she's lost her child.

She starts to tear up and I have to turn away. I don't mean to abandon her while she's upset, but I just can't take anymore. There've been too many tears.

"The baby?" she asks. I keep my back turned as I reset the glucometer. I try to take a deep breath but my lungs have contracted and are unaccommodating.

Eva mumbles softly in Spanish. She knows. I didn't even have to look at her and she knows.

The rest of our time together is spent in silence. She keeps her head bowed and I can't say I'm disappointed. The less questions the better. It's still all too much right now.

Before I can leave, Eva grabs my elbow. I don't want to turn around. She deserves better than any explanation I can manage right now. She tries to pull me closer. I finally concede and sit down beside her on the edge of the bed.

Seconds of silence pass. My eyelids threaten to close. I can't sleep yet. There are things that need to be done. Eva catches me off guard and pulls harshly at my arm, causing me to fall into her. She wraps her arms around my back and quietly sobs into my shoulder.

This just keeps getting harder and harder. I close my eyes and my stomach twists as I listen to Eva cry in pain. There's been too much pain lately.

She tires quickly. I regret leaving her alone when she's so upset, but I can't take it anymore. I just can't. It's selfish, I know that, but I can't do it anymore.

I look at my watch. I have to be at work in three hours. I should call the Cohens. I don't want them to worry anymore than they already have. Now that their son is back, they should be enjoying their time together as a family instead of worrying about all this.

I grab the phone and head out onto the porch while dialing the Cohens' number. It rings five or six times with no response and I find myself somewhat relieved. Just as I'm about to disconnect the line, a breathless voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Kirsten."

"Ryan!" She's surprised. She never really expected me to call. "How are you? How's Theresa doing?"

"She's uh …." I swallow as my voice fails. I clear my throat and try again. "She's all right …. Well, not really. She's … sad."

Kirsten pauses in consideration for a couple seconds. She must think I'm on the verge of breaking down again.

"What about you, Ryan? How are you doing?"

"Fine." I know I answered too quickly. I sigh and wait for the lecture to start.

"Please, Ryan, just be honest with me. We want to help you through this."

"I know. Thank-you." I hope that's enough.

"Why don't you come stay with us for a couple of days. We can have Theresa transferred to a hospital in Newport and we can take care of you … of both of you."

"No, Kirsten. I mean, thank-you, but I think it would be best if we just continue as normal." I don't want to tell her about Eva. I don't want to tell her that I have to work twelve-hour night shifts to pay only of fraction of the medical bills. I don't want to tell her that I want to come back more than anything else in the world. There's no point in kidding myself, or them. This is my life now.

"Okay. But, please, If you every need _anything_, remember that we're here for you. We will help you, Ryan."

"I know. Thanks."

I sound tired. I can't hide it. I can't even pretend anymore.

"All right, sweetie. You get some sleep. And, please, call us if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Kirsten."

I light a cigarette immediately after hanging up the phone. My head and stomach are both burning. I need to eat. I need to sleep. I need my life back. I take a long drag off the smoke and run my free hand over my face.

Two days ago, I didn't think things could get any worse. Fuck, was I wrong. I'm living a nightmare.

"Excuse me."

A small voice interrupts my self-pity. I turn my head and peer through the wooden slats of the porch railings to see the little girl from next door staring expectantly at me.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly.

She straightens her puffy pink dress with one hand before holding up some papers with the other.

"Would you please sponsor me in my school runathon?"

What the fuck is a "runathon"?

"I'm sorry. What was that?"

"Everyone is second grade is running around the school at lunch. We're supposed to get people to give us money."

Kids are so blunt. No sales pitch. Just the cold, hard facts. The world would be a better place if kids were in charge. Despite her honesty, I can't give her money. I don't have money.

"I'm sorry … I can't right now …."

She frowns and shrugs. "That's okay. I can come back later."

I don't think she understands. I'll have even less money later.

"I'm so sorry." The child's flustered mother jogs across the lawn to retrieve her daughter.

"It's okay, Mommy. I was just asking the man for money."

The woman's eyes dart from her daughter to me and back again. "Megan, I told you to wait for me. You don't just walk up to people and ask them to sponsor you."

The little girl shrugs again and sets her eyes on the grass while shuffling from foot to foot.

"I'm so sorry," the woman apologizes again.

"It's fine." I catch her eyes for a second before turning my focus back on my cigarette.

"C'mon," she says to her child. I tilt my head and watch as she drags her child back to the house. I've never seen the woman be anything but frazzled. She can't keep up. She's always either yelling at or chasing after her kids. She's just doing the best she can. It's not enough. I can relate.

I lean my head against the railing and extinguish my smoke. I pick up the phone and dial again. Seth answers his cell phone on the first ring. It didn't take him long to reactivate his account.

"Seth. Hey. Listen, can you do me a favor?"

"Ryan? What's up? How're you doing, dude? How's Theresa?"

"Can you call me at 5:30?" I ask flatly, avoiding his questions.

"Call you? Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?" He sounds completely, utterly confused.

"Yeah." I sigh. "I just need a phone call at 5:30."

"Oh … okay. Is that it? Is that all you need?"

I need a haircut. I need to win the lottery. I need a month's worth of sleep.

"Yeah. That's it."

"I'll call you at 5:30."

I hang up the phone and lie back on the porch. I can't muster the energy to go inside.

Despite the sun, it's actually cooler out here. I should go through the bills that are piling up on the end of the counter. I should call the bank and see what strings I can pull to increase my line of credit. I should be doing anything but lying in the sun. I'm just going to close my eyes for a few minutes. And incase it goes on longer than expected, I've lined up a wake-up call.


	6. Chapter Five

__

A/N- Thanks so much for the support again on the last chapter. You guys are making it hard for us to hold out on the chapters. So, seeing as how I'm weak and easily persuaded, here's the next installment. If you're enjoying this one and need some balancing, when you're done reading, go check out Brandywine's story that I so affectionately refer to as 'The Anti-Chino', Strawberry. It's well worth the read. Enjoy Chapter Five.

__

- J (of JBKAF)

The Chino

Chapter Five

Theresa's surgery went fine but she had to stay three extra days. I'm supposed to pick her up in a couple of hours.

I have so much to do. I'm tired again. Not "so tired I can barely keep my eyes open", more like, "so tired that I think I'm dead." Between visiting Theresa in the hospital, twelve hour shifts at the factory and the basic care-taking of Eva, I think just might be dead.

It's been four days since the death of my child, and it still feels like I died, too.

Right now, I'm painting the nursery. It just can't be the way it was when Theresa was last here. Eva agrees with me, she's the one that brought it up. She told me that I should take care of it before her baby saw it. So I'm painting over the clouds and mountains. It looks almost like it did when Arturo was still here. It took a few coats, but now I can't even see the outlines anymore. The baby is gone and so is the nursery. I burned the crib and rocking chair yesterday. I probably wouldn't have been able to get anything for them anyway. It wasn't as therapeutic as I'd expected.

The phone is ringing but I can't find the energy to walk over and answer it. It's probably the Cohens again. They've been to visit Theresa every day but I keep missing them.

Between work and Eva, it's actually not on purpose, it's just scheduling that brings them to the hospital while I'm busy trying to salvage our fragile financial situation.

The answering machine clicks on. "Ryan? It's Kirsten again. We're still trying to see you. Will you call us when you're home? Please?"

I sigh and walk over and pick up the phone, silencing her echoing voice. "Hey." I can't avoid them forever.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I was in the other room."

"How are you?"

"I'm good. Theresa's coming home today. I'm just trying to get everything ready for her before I go to work."

There's a pause and I can tell that she's about to say something that I don't want to hear.

"You've been working?"

"Yeah."

"Theresa … she said you were … but we had hoped …." She sighs. "Can I see you? Can we talk?"

"I have a lot to do today, Kirsten." The worry in her voice is too much for me. She really means well, but I can't see her. Her pity. Her concern. I can't take it right now. It would be so easy for me to just close my eyes and let her hug me and make everything okay, but I can't. I don't belong there.

"I'm not going to tell you how worried we are, but I'm also not going to let you keep pushing us away …."

"Kirsten, things are just really busy right now."

"Twelve hour shifts. Theresa's surgery. Theresa's sick mother. Yeah, I'd say you were pretty busy." Her voice isn't angry, just serious. She's laying all her cards on the table.

How does she know?

"Theresa's worried about you, too. She told us everything. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because. I can handle it."

"You can't. You shouldn't have to."

"I'm handling it."

"Ryan, please. Will you just see us? You haven't seen Seth since the night he got back, do you know how upset he is?"

Way to add to my guilt. Give me something else, I can handle it. Throw another monkey on my back. Make me responsible for Seth's happiness as well as Theresa's health and Eva's health and our finances. That's just what I need.

"I have to go. I'll call you when I get a minute. Maybe we can work something out."

"You'll come home?" she asks.

Doesn't she know yet?

"I am home."

-------------------/--------------------/-------------------/--------------------

There's no time to rest. I finished turning the nursery back into a bedroom and gave Eva her meds. She's anxious to see her daughter and gave me specific instructions to bring her straight in to see her after getting her home.

I'm anxious to get Theresa home, too. She's been in that hospital too long.

I stop the car at the patient pick up area and I see her in a wheelchair by the door. She has a cigarette in her mouth and she's looking over a stack of papers.

"What are you doing here? Am I late?" I know I'm not late.

"No, I just asked them to bring me on down. It's such a dirty habit," she snorts, glaring at the cigarette in her hand.

"Yeah, I know." I take the smoke from her and inhale deeply.

"You didn't tell me that you'd met with the financial lady, Ryan." Her eyes are searching my face.

"I told you I'd take care of everything."

"There's no way we can afford this …."

"Let's get you home." I push the wheelchair to the car and she gets up by herself. I know that she's almost fine now, the doctors say she can go back to work as soon as next week, but it's still hard for me to watch her. She's so fragile. I don't know if I'll ever see her as anything but breakable after the past few weeks.

"Ryan, are you going to talk to me?" she asks once I get into the driver's seat.

"What? About what?"

She sighs.

I can't stop the anger inside from spilling out. "You don't want to talk to me. You have the Cohens to talk to. If you'd wanted to talk to me, you wouldn't have told them all about our business." I don't mean to lash out, but I have to say something. I feel betrayed that she would tell them about our personal life. It's like she doesn't trust me to handle things.

"Ryan, where is this coming from?" Her voice is quietly and subdued.

I don't answer. There's nothing that I can do. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm so tired that I'm not thinking straight. I don't want to upset her.

"The Cohens came to see me. Sandy and Kirsten - even Seth. They're nice people and … they're worried about you. I'm worried about you."

"Since when, Theresa?"

"God, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being so stubborn?"

I'm not talking anymore. Talking only makes things worse. It's better to keep things inside where no one can see the pain.

"Ryan?"

I glance over at her. She's hurt. She's upset. Well, at least that's something I'm used to dealing with.

"So you're just not going to talk at all? Great. Just what I need …."

I won't let her get me riled up. I can't handle being angry at her right now.

"God dammit, Ryan! Talk to me!" she orders, pulling on my arm.

"Why did you tell your mother that we were getting married?"

Her pale face flushes red. "What?"

She heard me. I'm not going to repeat it. I pull the car into our driveway and turn to her.

"Ryan, I … I'm sorry."

"You lied to me. You lied to her. Do you know how much that hurts me? That you didn't even tell me? I mean …."

"I'm sorry. She just wouldn't let it go and she's so sick … I couldn't upset her and tell her that we weren't getting married. I just couldn't."

"You should have told me. And you shouldn't have gone to the Cohens behind my back."

"I'm trying to look out for you, you're so … you're not okay, Ryan. You're just … not okay. And I don't know what to do when you won't even talk to me."

"You want me to talk to you? When should I talk to you, Theresa? When do I have the fucking time to talk to you? I don't have time to fucking breathe most days and you want me to _talk_ to you?" This is getting out of control. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to yell at her. I just want things to settle down. I need some quiet. Peace. Silence. That's all I need. I need a plateau so I can catch my breath and figure out where to go from here.

Everything's just spiraling out of control. Even with the baby gone, things are still fucking spinning.

"Ryan? Ryan, look at me." Theresa has her hands on my face and her dark eyes are full of worry.

"What?" I'm dizzy but that doesn't explain why she looks so worried; she's close to panic.

"God …." She shoves me angrily. "See? You can't even see that you're making yourself sick! What am I supposed to do if you're sick? I won't be responsible for you, not like this …."

"You're not _responsible_ for me," I snap. What the hell is she talking about?

"You came here because of me and you're still here because of me … but I don't want you like this. Why won't you listen to me?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say … that I love you too much to watch you die here …," she says seriously.

"I'm not _dying_, Theresa."

"You're fooling yourself if you think you can go on this way. You almost passed out mid-sentence. What's gonna happen if you're driving when that happens? Or you're working and you fall out again? What am I supposed to do when you finally collapse?"

I close my eyes to try and ignore the spots dancing in my vision. I know I need to rest, and I realize that I can't remember the last time that I ate something, but I haven't been hungry since the death of my child. Eating, sleeping ... there's nothing that I need anymore. I'm breathing and that's enough.

"Let's go inside. I need to see Ma," Theresa states. She gets out of the car. I pick up the paperwork before she can grab it and follow her up the steps.

"I'm sorry," she says, turning to me and opening her arms. I accept her hug but it doesn't affect me. She needs to do it and I have to let her think that she's doing something useful.

"Go see your mother."

Theresa disappears inside.

---------------------/----------------------/-------------------/-------------------

I sit down on the porch and light a cigarette. My lungs are congested but I can work around it. I inhale deeply and start to flip through the medical bills. Without insurance, it's impossible to get affordable help. Medicine is expensive. Surgery is expensive. I swear, losing this kid is more expensive than when we were planning on raising it. The numbers dance around on the page.

I put the paid bills on one side of the step and the stack of unpaid and upcoming bills on the other. I don't know how I'm going to afford this. The banks are no help to a seventeen-year-old kid that's trying to pay off his girlfriend's miscarriage; that's what parents are for. I don't have any and Theresa's mom is too sick.

It seems so insignificant - the money. I mean, a child is dead - a child that never had a chance to breathe the air - but the only thing that remains of this child is the debt that came from losing it. I don't want to have to worry about this. I don't want to have to keep living this way. At least before, I was paying for this child's life, but now … I'm paying for its death. I'm working myself to the bone to pay for the loss of my child. It's not fair.

I jump when something brushes against my knee. I blink to regain focus and glance over to my left, seeing Sandy sitting beside me. I don't know how long he's been there, but he's intently looking over the bills.

"Hey," I whisper.

"Hey. I said hello, but you were distracted. I can see why," Sandy says quietly.

"What's going on?"

"I wanted to see you. Heard you got a lecture from Kirsten this morning, so I figured it was my turn to give it a shot." Sandy doesn't look away from the paperwork while he talks. "You think that you can pay for this?"

"How's Seth?" I try to take the pages from him, but he holds firm and I'm simply too tired to fight him.

"Upset. He's worried about you. Says that you call every day but he can't seem to catch you in person. He thinks you're avoiding him. I wish I could tell him that he's wrong."

"I've been busy. I just got Theresa home a few minutes ago. I haven't had a second to spare."

"You look like hell, kid."

"Thanks." At least he's honest.

"What's going on? How are you going to pay for this?" Sandy asks.

"I'll take care of it." I manage to get the bills away from him but I'm not counting on my shaking hands. The papers slip from my fingers and scatter across the lawn as the wind catches them. I scramble to get them as they flutter out of my reach. I finally manage to gather the papers in a haphazard stack against my chest.

"Ryan, sit down."

I sit down and slide the paperwork under my leg so it doesn't fly away again.

"You can't do this."

"I can."

"You can't. If you'd actually take a moment to look at yourself, you'd know that. You're a smart kid, but you're not Superman. You can't possibly think that you can afford this … supporting Theresa and her mother. You can't."

"I have to do this. I have to. They don't have anyone else."

"They're not your responsibility anymore. Theresa knows that, why don't you?" Sandy asks.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask Theresa?"

Sandy sighs. He's clearly frustrated with me but I don't think that there's any way that I can change his opinion right now.

"I'm worried about you. I'm more worried about you than I've ever been. I was wrong to think that you could handle something like this."

"I have handled it. I can handle it."

"You are _seventeen years old_. You are not capable of handling something like this. It's out of your hands now."

Whose hands is it in? Who else is going to take care of this? "I took on this responsibility when I came here. They don't have anyone else."

"But you do. You're family, and Theresa is part of your family now which makes her a part of ours. Let us help you. It's time for you to come home."

"I can't. I can't leave her." I can't just abandon her here. I can't leave her in Chino while I go back to that posh life. I don't belong in Newport anymore. I never did. I don't belong here either, but I don't have anywhere else to go. I turn my face away from Sandy. He puts his arm around me but I can't look at him. It's too much. This is too much.

We both sit in silence for what feels like hours. I close my eyes against the blinding sun and try to ignore the fact that the world is spinning.

"When was the last time you ate?"

I keep my eyes closed and shrug lightly. I honestly don't remember. These past few days have felt like they've gone on for years. I can't possibly remember everything I've done in that time.

"Why don't you let me take you somewhere to get a good meal. I'm sure you can direct me to a decent restaurant around here."

I don't want to eat - especially at a restaurant. I just feel like every single penny should be used wisely. Even though I know Sandy would pay, it just seems like such a waste.

Besides, I don't have time. I have a meeting this afternoon at the only bank left that hasn't turned me down for a loan. I'm clinging to threads, but I have to give it a shot. We need this money more than I need an expensive meal served by an overly pleasant waiter who's just looking for a generous tip.

"I can't. I have an appointment this afternoon and I have … things I need to do." I can hear my voice shake as I talk. At this rate, Sandy's never going to leave me alone.

"At least let me pick something up for you …."

"Sandy." I try to sound firm and aggravated, but my words come out airy with desperation. I can't deal with having to push him away right now.

I grab the stack of bills from under my leg and move to stand. Once again, I stumble forward. Sandy reacts just as quickly as he had the first time around, and grabs onto my shoulder to steady my body. The whiteness overwhelms my vision for several seconds longer than usual. I feel sick. I don't want to move or open my eyes.

"Ryan, why don't you just sit down and let me get you something to eat."

I can hear him, but I don't want to acknowledge him. He, and all the Cohens, makes it so hard for me to be what I have to be. It's hard enough as it is. I have to get away.

I crack my eyes open to test my vision. A few small spots dance around in front of my eyes but quickly fade. I pull my shoulder away from Sandy. He lets me go but holds out an arm, gesturing for me to sit. There isn't time for sitting and talking and fancy restaurants. This isn't Newport. I've got responsibilities.

I glance at my watch. It only takes me fifteen minutes to get to the bank, and though I don't need to be there for another half an hour, I need the excuse.

"I've got to go, Sandy. I'll call you."

I grab the keys out of my pocket and head straight for Theresa's car. I'm unsteady on my feet - like I'm floating - but I can't stop now.

I throw the bills on the passenger seat and start the engine. I usually give it a minute or so to warm up, but that's not an option today. Immediately shifting into reverse, I pull out of the driveway.

I allow my eyes to drift to the front of the house before I drive away. Sandy's standing on the porch, watching me sadly. His shoulders are hunched in defeat. I turn my eyes away. I can't handle another disapproving stare. Can't they see I'm doing the best I can? It's just never enough.

--------------------/---------------------/---------------------/-------------------

"I'm sorry, Mr. ... Atwood, is it?"

I nod and swallow. I've heard it all before. I can feel it coming.

"We cannot grant you the loan you applied for."

My last tiny light of hope has been extinguished. This is it. This is rock bottom. I don't know what we're going to do.

"Can I interest you in starting one of our higher interest, long term savings accounts, though?"

Savings? If I had money to save, would I even be here? I have to get out of here.

"No, thank-you," I answer politely. I want to scream and yell, but can't burn any bridges. I may need these people again in the future.

I grab my folder off the table and start to stand. I wait for it. I know it's going to come. Lately, it's been constant. Sure enough, a sharp wave of dizziness nearly knocks me off my feet. I sway and grab onto the desk beside me, closing my eyes and waiting. I'll wait. Wait for it to cease.

"Mr. Atwood?"

It'll just be a couple more seconds.

"Are you okay, sir?"

If I were capable, I'd laugh at her choice of words. She must have thirty years on me. Unfortunately, nothing's funny at the moment.

I open my eyes again and go through the blinking process. My vision returns quickly but the room continues to spin.

"I'm fine."

She take a step toward me, but I step away. I just want to get out of here.

"Thank-you for your time," I whisper as I move to the door.

I leave the bank in a hurry. Once outside, I fall back against the brick wall and shut my eyes tightly. I open them a few seconds later only to find that the world is still caught in a spin cycle. It's making me nauseous. I need to get home. I can't work like this. If only I had gotten that loan …. I can't think about that. It didn't happen. I knew it wouldn't. It still hurts, nonetheless.

I make it to the car and pull out my pack of smokes. One lousy cigarette. I hope it's enough. I can't afford any more. At all.

I ignite my lighter with shaky hands and try to pull the smoke in as deep as my shuddering body will allow. I wait until it burns and then exhale. I want to _feel _every drag.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. The downhill spiral continues. If only I'd known, a few days ago, how good I'd had it. I suppose happiness is all relative. And though I thought the exact same thoughts last week, I now truly believe things can't get any worse.

The drive home is a blur. I stay under the speed limit because I can barely make out my surroundings. At one point, I actually consider putting on my hazards. I would have probably been safer walking along the side of the highway. Miraculously, I make it home unharmed.

Much to my relief, Sandy's left. I notice that he'd gathered a couple more bills that must have been floating around, and stuck them under the empty flower pot on the step.

"Give it back!"

The young girl from next door is yelling at her older brother, who appears to have taken her doll and is holding it at the mercy of a pair of scissors.

The boy continues to taunt his sister, the scissors coming a little closer to decapitating the doll with every passing second.

"MOM!"

The frazzled lady runs out onto the porch, places her hands on her hips before scolding her little boy. "Michael, give your sister back her Barbie."

The boy rolls his eyes and tosses the doll back at the little girl.

Satisfied, the woman wanders back into the house. I reach down to grab the bills from under the flower pot, but jolt upright when the girl screams loudly.

"MICHAEL! NO!"

I look up to see the boy snatching the doll out of his sister's hands once again, holding it high above his head and out of her reach.

She jumps up and down, but doesn't come close to touching the doll with her outstretched hand.

I wince as she lets out a shrill scream that I'm sure could have broken glass.

I can hear stomping coming from inside before I see the large man emerge, beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

"What the fuck is goin' on here?!" he screams loudly.

"He took my Barbie!"

The boy now has the doll at his side, his eyes are wide with fear.

The man storms over to the boy, whips the doll out of his hand, and slaps him across the face. The boy touches his fingers to his red flesh, but keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.

"And you!" he yells at the little girl, who's waiting for her doll to be returned safely. He throws the doll at her feet and slaps her across the face as well. "No fuckin' screaming! You hear?!"

She starts to cry, falling to the ground and hugging the doll close to her chest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The woman is now standing behind the aggressive man, her hands balled tightly into fist at her side. For the first time, she looks completely in control.

"Control these fuckin' children of yours, dammit!"

She steps closer to him, tilting her head, her jaw set angrily. "Don't you _ever_ touch my babies again. Do you understand me?"

The man snorts out a laugh. "Get over yourself, woman!" His shoulder connects with hers as he weaves his way back into the house.

The woman reacts quickly, picking her daughter up off the ground and hugging her closely as the little girl continues to sob. Her head is on a swivel as she searches for her other child that was also a victim on the scene. She stands up, holding her daughter in her arms and spins several times as she tries to seek out her son.

She won't find him. He's invisible.

I pull my eyes away from the familiar nightmare that just occurred in front of me, and open the squeaky screen door. I enter slowly, allowing my already failing eyes extra time to adjust to the change in light. It takes longer than usual. I feel my eyes burning and, once again, I'm forced to squeeze them shut and wait.

"Ryan? What are you doing?"

I open my eyelids and look at Theresa. She's swaying in and out of focus and I'm forced to close my eyes again.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. She isn't saying anything. At least I don't hear anything.

"What's wrong?" she whispers into my ear.

I'm relieved to find that when I open my eyes for the third time, my focus is returning.

The room continues to spin, but I can make out Theresa's worried features.

"It's nothing. We … We didn't get the loan."

She sighs and squeezes her fingers. I'm not sure she realizes how critical this loan is, but she must at least understand its importance to some degree because she doesn't say anything else.

"Did you give your mother her shot?" I see her face change a little when I switch subjects. We need to focus on things we can actually accomplish.

"No. Not yet."

I nod and start for Eva's room. She doesn't stop me, but continues to stand in the entranceway.

I knock softly on Eva's door and she promptly urges me to come in.

"How are you, Eva?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart."

I walk over to the dresser to prepare her insulin shot.

"Actually, Ryan, I've already taken care of that."

I continue to fill the syringe. For some reason, her words take a while to register.

"Ryan?"

I stop, realizing what she's said.

I slowly turn around. "Theresa said …."

"_I_ did it, Ryan."

She smiles awkwardly. I blink a few times and nod while gently placing the syringe back on the dresser.

It's good. I want to tell her that's good news, but I can't find the words. My head's spinning too fast and I feel like I'm upside down. My stomach turns and lean forward to quell the pain and regain my bearings. Nothing.

It just keeps moving faster. I don't know if Eva's talking to me. My ears are filled with a piercing ringing.

I stumble through the door to the hallway and try my hand at breathing out there. Still nothing. My chest is tight and won't allow anything but shallow intakes of oxygen. I think I see Theresa standing at the end of the hall facing me, but I can't be sure.

The spinning continues to intensify until I'm sure that I can't fight the nausea any more. I run my hand along the wall until I feel the cut-out of the bathroom door. Theresa's closer to me now. I think. It's hard to tell. I turn away form her and stumble into the bathroom. My left shin connects with the bathtub, but I can't feel the pain associated with the collision.

I somehow make it to the far wall, where I assume the toilet is, and drop heavily to my knees. I can't see anything now. No spots, no blurry depictions of figures; it's all white.

I feel for the porcelain rim before expelling my stomach of all it's contents. There's nothing in me. I know that. There hasn't been for far too long and now I'm suffering the consequences. Why does everything have to hurt so much?

I feel hands on my back. Warm hands that sooth my shuddering slightly.

Still, the only sounds I can make out are the harsh ringing and my own gasping.

The hands move to my shoulders, rubbing large circles. I close my eyes and try to suppress the panic that's coursing rapidly through my entire body. The hands pull me back. I'm sitting now.

The ringing is slowly receding. I can hear Theresa's voice, I think, but I can't make out what she saying. It's soft. Quiet. Soothing.

The hands brush across my forehead and then through my hair. I can't tell what I'm leaning against, but it's warm as well. Still, I can't stop shivering.

I try to open my eyes and I see a washed out version of the bathroom. Everything's overdeveloped. I close them again when the stinging resumes.

Theresa's shushing me. I can hear her more clearly now.

"Shhh. It's okay."

I'd hardly refer to it as "okay." Nothing that's "okay" hurts this much.

I try my vision once more. It's better this time. Fuzzy, but not as bright.

My support suddenly disappears, but the hands on my shoulders prevent me from falling backward.

"Can you try to stand up?"

She's pulling on my hands. I try to go along with it, but my body won't completely cooperate. She shouldn't be pulling me to my feet. She just had surgery a few days ago.

"Theresa … no." I don't even know if she can hear me; I can barely hear myself. I can see her face now and she doesn't look at all put off by my objections.

"Yes. Here." She places an arm around my back. I'm suddenly on my feet but I have no idea how I got here.

She starts walking and I'm forced to follow. The world is slowly coming back to me. I can hear and see her somewhat clearly. I don't trust myself, though. I don't think I could remain on my feet if she were to let go. My stomach's still in my throat and I'm not sure that removing me from the bathroom is such a good idea.

"Lie down."

We're in the bedroom. Thank God it's right across the hall. I comply and let my body fall onto the cool sheets that she's pulled down.

She's rearranging my legs. I'd try to do it myself but it would take too much energy. Energy that I just don't have. I can't even keep my eyes open.

Again, her hands brush across my forehead. Followed by her lips. She kisses me softly before pulling away.

"I'm going to get you some juice."

"No." My attempt at a firm command comes out as a feeble mumble.

"You have to get some sugar in your system," she answers patiently, quietly. She's surprisingly calm. I can't really tell, though. It's still all a blurry mess.

I don't think I can eat or drink anything right now, but I realize that when she's this calm and sure of herself, there's no winning an argument.

She pulls the sheet up to my chest and brushes my hair back once more. I can't believe how cold I am. I want to pull up all the covers, but I can't muster the energy to tell her or do it myself.

My body begins to relax and I'm finally able to take some deep - albeit shuddering - breaths.

"I'll be back," she whispers. I hear her leaving the room.

"Is he okay?" Eva's voice floats in from the hallway.

"No, Ma, he's not."

The door clicks shut behind her and I can't force myself to remain conscious any longer. It's been far too long as it is.


	7. Epilogue

__

A/N - This is it, The Chino is over. Thanks to everyone who took the time to let us in on your thoughts regarding our little story. We hope the last chapter doesn't disappoint.

The Chino

Epilogue

"Ryan? Ryan, wake up …. Wake up, Ryan."

I can hear her voice but I can't find her. She's calling to me, but I can't reach her. Finally, I open my eyes.

"Thank God. I couldn't wake you," Theresa says, her face lined with worry. She's on her knees in bed beside me. She must have been shaking my shoulders because I can feel where her fingernails were digging into my flesh.

"Sorry. What time is it?" I yawn despite my urge to fight the sleep. The past twenty-four hours are a blur; I barely remember getting home yesterday. The memory of the rejection by the bank is the last thing I recall before hearing her call my name.

"Around six in the evening," she answers.

"What? Shit, I'm late …." I start to get up, but Theresa places a hand on my bare chest, keeping me immobile. A flash of white crosses my vision and the events from earlier start to come back to me. The dizziness, the nausea … the panic. It's all still there, but much more subdued. I guess I just needed the rest.

"You're not late."

"What? It's six, I have to be there in--"

"I called Harry."

What? Why the hell would she do that? Why would she call my supervisor?

"You didn't tell him anything, Ryan. He's a really nice guy but you didn't tell him that I lost the baby," Theresa says quietly. I sit up, closing my eyes briefly and waiting for the spinning to stop. Much to my relief, it only lasts a few seconds.

"Why is it any of his business?"

"He wouldn't have made you come in if he'd known. He's giving you vacation time even though you're not permanent yet. He wouldn't have made you work, Ryan."

"I have to work, Theresa. We need the money."

"_We_ don't need the money. _I_ need the money."

What is she talking about? "We're in this together …."

"Not anymore. I won't do this to you. I won't let you destroy yourself." She won't meet my eyes. I cup her chin and force her to look at me. I need to see her eyes to be able to understand her. I don't know what she's talking about but I can tell she's serious. This is serious.

"What are you talking about? I promised you that I'd take care of you."

"You promised me that you'd take care of our baby. But you couldn't … I couldn't. It wasn't meant to be. None of this was meant to be, Ryan, and you know it."

"Theresa …."

"No, let me finish. You're being a prick. You won't eat, you don't sleep, you don't listen and you …." She takes my shoulders and shakes me to get her point across. "You're slowly killing yourself."

"I'm not, Theresa. I'm trying to pull us out of this financial spiral. The bills aren't going to stop coming. I'm doing the best I can …." Doesn't she understand that I'm doing the best I can? I thought for sure she understood.

"I know you are but I can't let you keep this up. You don't belong here."

"I came here for you; came because you asked me to."

"And I have never regretted anything more than asking you to come here. This is my fault. I was selfish. I thought I needed you."

"You did need me, Theresa, and I need you."

She looks at me with sympathetic eyes. "No, you don't. You have a family that cares about you, people that would do anything for you and you walked away. You gave it all up to help me." She sighs, putting an arm around me. "And I'll never be able to make it up to you. The only thing that I can do … is let you go."

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave you …. We've been through so much."

"I know, but you don't belong here. You don't love me." We'd never said the words, not in all our history. It isn't something that we ever felt we needed to say. She'd told me when we were kids that she never wanted to hear those words from me, that I should never feel forced to tell her anything and that it was understood between us. Our feelings couldn't be summed up with words. They were feelings, not words.

"You want me to go."

"I don't want you to go, Ryan, I need you to go. You have to go. Seth, Sandy and Kirsten, they need you. You need to be there. You have to finish school. You have to go to college. You have to make a life for yourself. You deserve better than this."

"What about you? You want me to just leave you here? Who's going to take care of Eva? Who's going to take care of you?"

"It's not your problem," she murmurs.

"Eddie? Will Eddie take care of you and your mother, Theresa?"

Her face flashes with anger but she gets my point. "I don't need fucking Eddie to take care of me. I don't need _anyone_ to take care of me. You think I'd go back to Eddie? You think I'll run back to him just because I can't have you?"

"I don't know, Theresa. I just … I wasn't expecting this."

"I know, but I can't force you to stay any longer. You have to go back to your family."

"You're my family, too."

"I know, and that won't change. I'm not going back to Eddie, I've told him that and he understands. I don't love him and I won't be with someone I don't love."

"What about me?"

"I … you know how I feel about you. But we're not meant to be. You have to go. You can't stay here any longer." She sighs and takes my hands, lacing her fingers through mine. "When I first saw you across the street, when we were kids, I knew that you didn't belong here. You were just too … too innocent - too good for this place. And once I got to know you, I knew I was right. Your family - Dawn and Trey - they don't deserve you. But the Cohens … you belong there. It's like, they weren't complete until you came to them. It took sixteen years for you to find where you belonged … and I won't take that from you."

Wow. She's serious.

"Please, just go talk to them. Think about this. Go see your brother and Sandy and Kirsten. Maybe you'll listen to them."

--------/-----------/-------------/-----------/-----------/------------/-------------/

I borrow Theresa's car and it takes me under an hour to get to Newport. Neither the drive nor the sunset do a thing for my nerves. I've been trying to fight my need for them for months and now I'm on my way back. This is home. But what can I say to these people? I've failed and I want another chance? Theresa kicked me out? How can I go to them and ask them for any more than they've already given me?

I park the car on the street. Summer's car is behind the Range Rover and Sandy's car is beside hers. I had taken Theresa's pack of cigarettes before I left and I'm made my way through five already. I light another and try and summon some confidence as I walk up the driveway. The door is wide open. I remember the security of this place. I always felt safe here. It's like a different world.

The porch here is nothing like Theresa's porch. It's concrete and beautiful with columns and decorative brick. Theresa's is falling apart, sagging and wooden. The steps creak and the door still isn't fixed. I sit down on the cement steps and take another drag off my cigarette.

Theresa says I belong here. I wish it was true. I don't feel like I belong anywhere right now. No matter what choice I make, it's always the wrong one. Should I have let Theresa go? Would the baby have survived if I had left her alone? Would Seth have stayed if I had left her alone? Would anything have changed?

I couldn't have lived with myself if I didn't go with her. I don't regret my choice; I just regret that there was nothing I could do. My life is one big exercise in futility. I can't save my mother. I can't save Trey, I can't even fucking save my own child's life.

I hear Sandy's laughter echoing through the house. Apparently, Summer and Kirsten are trying to cook and the Cohen men are upset. I find myself smiling. Nothing seems to break the spirit of these people. It's not the money that makes them so resilient, it's who they are. Sandy worked his way to where he is and he appreciates everything that he has. Kirsten loves Sandy more than she'll ever be able to explain; she loves his fire and his never-say-die attitude. Seth is a combination of the best of both of them.

Theresa says I belong here, but I'll never measure up to that.

I stand up and start to walk back to the car.

"Hey. What are you doing?"

Seth. I turn to face him.

"What's going on?" he asks as he walks over to me.

"I … uh …."

"At a loss for words; what did I expect?" He smiles nervously. "You okay?"

I shake my head. I feel the tears springing but I can't stop them. They start to streak down my face.

His smile flickers but he doesn't speak. He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me toward the house. "C'mon."

"Seth …," I manage, trying to dry my face of the tears but they keep flowing.

"You don't have to say anything, but you do have to come inside," he says, ignoring my trembling. He leads me into the den.

I sit down on the couch and he sits down beside me. "What's new?"

His nonchalance is not lost on me. Seth's never dealt well with drama but he doesn't seem surprised to see my tears and shaking. Maybe the weeks he spent away from Newport really helped him out.

"What's wrong?" he asks, not taking his arm from around my shoulder.

I can't talk. Not now. Not when he's being so nice … not when I shouldn't have come here.

Before I can think of an answer, I feel arms wrap around me. Kirsten. She's kneeling beside me and rocking me in her arms. I wish I could pull away and tell her that I don't need her. I don't need this. I can do this. I'm strong and I can take care of myself … but I let her hold me.

"Oh, honey … it's okay …. It's all right …." She runs her hand through my hair, soothingly. I wish I could believe her but nothing's all right. Nothing's ever going to be all right. Doesn't she know that?

I can't seem to stop the flow of tears, even as the room starts to spin. I feel myself drifting away, lost in my tears. It's been so long since I've just allowed myself to break.

She doesn't understand, she would never understand how it feels to be a complete and utter failure, to be cursed to this life where, no matter what I do, it all crashes down around me. I don't want it to be my fault, but it always is. I can't stop the chaos that follows me.

"Ryan? Honey, talk to me. Say something, please …," she urges.

"I'm sorry."

"Why? There's nothing for you to be sorry for …. You haven't done anything wrong. What's got you so upset?"

"I'm so sorry …."

I can't stop shaking. I don't think I'll ever stop shaking.

-----------/---------------/----------------/-----------------/----------------/---------------/

"I think he cried himself to sleep …," Kirsten whispers to Sandy.

She's released Ryan, and he is leaning limply against the couch, dried tears on his cheeks. She's never seen him this way, this shattered and vulnerable. She knew when she saw him at the hospital, that it was only a matter of time before that rock-hard exterior he'd perfected would crack, but she never wanted this. She wanted him to come to his senses and realize that they care about him and that he should come home, but she didn't want him to fall apart. Seeing her sons cry … it's something she finds she is never prepared to handle.

"Did he tell you why he's here? What was wrong?" Sandy asks Seth, because he realizes his son knows Ryan better than anyone. The two boys share some sort of bond that he's never experienced. He's just relieved that Ryan is asleep on his couch, where he belongs, but it saddens Sandy that the kid's face is streaked with tears that he shouldn't be crying.

Ryan has been through so much - too much - in his short life, and the past few months have only added to that mountain of responsibility that he carries around. Sandy had been overjoyed when Ryan finally seemed to settle into their family, and equally stunned when he'd told him he had to leave. It wasn't what Sandy had wanted for the him, it wasn't what he'd deserved, but the kid's pride and sense of responsibility overruled Sandy's misgivings and he had to set him free. But this, seeing the kid so tired and exhausted when all he ever tried to do was the right thing, it killed Sandy.

"I don't know. I went outside and he was walking away and when I stopped him, he just started …." Seth motions to Ryan, unable to locate the right word to describe Ryan's breakdown. Summer wraps her arm around Seth's shoulder. She knows that he's stressed out because of Ryan's situation, it's all he's talked about since he's been back. She knows that the two boys need each other more than anyone could ever know.

"Let's just give him some space. He needs his rest. I'll call Theresa and see if she knows what's going on," Sandy states quietly.

"Are you sure you should call her? Didn't you say that Ryan got upset when you talked to her?" Kirsten asks. They've spent the last few days trying to figure out how to get Ryan home without physically dragging him, but they'd yet to come to a conclusion. They know that he's in too much of a volatile state to listen to anything that they have to say. They're terrified of pushing him further away and risking losing him forever.

"She's the only one that can tell us why he's here. Unless you want to wake him," Sandy replied.

"Call her," Summer says. "Hell, I'll call her. Where's her number?"

Sandy is happy that Summer's in their presence. She's the only one who's removed enough that she's not afraid of getting involved. She'd proven her ferocity and tenacity during Seth's absence, and it's become more than clear that she'll do anything to ensure his happiness. That involves Ryan, now. It's always involved Ryan. Sandy graciously leads her into the kitchen.

Kirsten rises off the floor and sits down beside the sleeping boy on the couch. "He looks so young … so tired …."

"Is he all right? I mean, you don't think he's sick or anything, do you?" Seth asks his mother. He needs someone to tell him that his brother is going to be okay. He needs his mother to make Ryan all right.

"I think he's made himself sick. He'll be okay. We just need him to come home so we can take care of him. Seth, go into the kitchen and see if there's anything in the fridge for him to eat." She has her hand against his forehead. He's feverish and pale but he was pale and shaking when she saw him at the hospital, too. She just prays he's okay. He has to be okay.

Seth goes into the kitchen and Kirsten gently shakes Ryan, running her hand thorough his shaggy hair again.

He stirs slightly, but doesn't open his eyes.

"C'mon, Ryan. It's going to be okay …," she whispers, putting her hand on his arm.

"He collapsed? When, Theresa? And why didn't you take him to a doctor?" Summer's voice is raised and drifting into the den from the kitchen. "The money? You know the

Cohens would've taken care of it …. Oh …. Can you say that again?"

Summer walks into the den shortly after with the phone raised to her ear, followed respectively by Sandy and Seth. She covers the mouthpiece and looks at Kirsten. "She says that he came to talk to you guys. She told him that he should come home, that he shouldn't be with her anymore."

"So he's coming home?" Seth asks his girlfriend with a stunned expression on his face.

"Theresa? What exactly did Ryan say when he left? So …." Summer listens intently. "Oh. Thanks. We'll call you later. Thanks."

"Summer?" Sandy impatiently presses her for information.

"She told him that he belongs here. And he just left. She said that he collapsed earlier, just fell out . She doesn't think he's been eating or sleeping …. She was crying, but I think she said that he's been killing himself and he has to come back here," Summer finishes softly.

Ryan stirs slightly, pulling away from Kirsten's touch.

"Ryan?"

He opens his eyes sluggishly and glances around in his disoriented state. She keeps him on the couch with her hand on his arm.

Summer pulls Seth from the room and leaves Kirsten and Sandy alone with Ryan for the time being. Seth initially fights her, trying to stay close, but she gives him a warning glare and he follows obediently.

"What's going on, Ryan?"

Ryan opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He closes his mouth again. He appears to be searching for the ability to form words.

"Ryan?"

------------/--------------/------------/-----------/----------------/------------/----------

Sandy says my name again but I can't look at him. I don't know if I can do this. But I have to.

"It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay," Kirsten says gently. She has her hand on my arm and for some reason, I feel the need to form a connection. I take her hand and squeeze it. She smiles, the slight contact brings tears to her eyes. I don't want to make her cry, but she's still smiling.

"Are you home now?" Sandy asks quietly, sitting down slowly on my empty side. His eyes are dark with understanding. He seems to know that I can't say it. I can't ask him to take me in again … but he's just asking me if I'm coming home. Home. This is home. This has always been home.

I nod. Kirsten bursts into tears and pulls me into an embrace. She's wracked with sobs as she holds me against her.

"You don't have to explain anything to us, Ryan. It's enough that you're home."

I feel like the weight of the world's been lifted off my shoulders. I'm home.

----------/--------------/--------------/---------------/---------------/---------------/-----

The drive back to Chino the next day is quiet. For once, it's a contented silence. We've all been through our worst nightmares, and somehow, we've all ended up together again. As they've said time and time again in the short amount of time that I've been "home," we're a family.

The past few months have stripped me down to nothing. I can't imagine having to go through more, or having to _be_ more. It was too much. I can admit that now. It wasn't an option at the time, but now it doesn't make me a weaker person. As a part of this "family," I'm instantly stronger.

Seth is driving Theresa's car back, following his parents' Range Rover at a safe distance.

They wouldn't let me drive, not until I get checked out by a doctor. It's nice to be able to think those words without the sharp waves of panic that always accompany the thought of the price tag associated with the visit. I didn't argue. Even after a long night's sleep, I'm still too tired to fight for anything.

Sandy backs the Range Rover into the driveway and Seth parks Theresa's car on the street. I don't know how much stuff they think I have, but it's not enough to warrant a back-in.

"Let's go. Grab your suitcase. Now, Megan!"

My attention is drawn next door. The lady emerges from the house with an armful of boxes. She dumps them into the trunk of her car before turning around to face her daughter, who's standing on the porch with her arms folded across her chest and her lips pursed in an exaggerated pout.

"Megan! I mean it!"

"I don't want to go! Why do we have to move?" She stomps her feet at the end of her rant.

Seth taps my shoulder lightly, encouraging me to come inside, but I shrug him off and keep my eyes fixed on the scene next door.

The lady walks over to her daughter, kneels down in front of her and takes the small girl's hand in her own. "We're getting a fresh start, honey. It's going to be different …. It's going to be _better now_. We're going to be a better family."

The little girl doesn't seem as affected as the lady would have liked, but she gives in anyway, following her mother into the house.

The woman's doing what's best for her family. I suddenly have a tremendous amount of respect for her.

A hand squeezes my shoulder. "You okay, sweetie?"

Kirsten's voice pulls me back. She looks worried. She's always worried. I give her a small smile and a nod before allowing her to guide me into the house.

Seth and Sandy are sitting on the stools behind the counter. Seth's tracing the crack in the top of my laptop with his finger. "What happened here?" he asks, not removing his eyes from the damage.

"You happened," I reply quietly. I know Seth doesn't comprehend what I've said, but he nods anyway. He must know that he can't begin to understand this place. It's a different world.

Theresa leaves the bedroom with two small bags, both of which, I assume, are holding the extent of my limited wardrobe. She places them on the floor by the door and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before we lock gazes.

She slowly walks over, her eyes glistening. She appears oddly satisfied. Strong. The girl I used to know. Unbreakable.

She stops directly in front of me, wrapping her arms around my waist and nestling her face into my chest. I place a hand behind her head, stroking my fingers through her long, sleek hair.

"You're the strongest person I've ever met, Ryan Atwood," she whispers softly. "It's not fair for me to keep you all to myself." She pulls back, smiling through her tears. After placing a soft kiss on my cheek, she turns and waves shyly at the Cohens.

"I'll call you this week, Theresa, and we'll go through your finances and I'll see what jobs I can find for you," Sandy states.

"Thank-you," Theresa nods and smiles at him before going back down the hall and into her room.

Once she's disappeared, I stare down the empty hallway for a moment.

Sandy eventually clears his throat, breaking the silence, "Is that _all_ your stuff?"

I raise my eyebrows and nod. I didn't collect anything in my time here. I had more than I could handle as it was.

"Okay then. I'll take these out to the Range Rover." He grabs the bags off the floor. Seth retrieves the laptop and follows his father outside.

Kirsten places a hand on my back. "Whenever you're ready, Ryan," she says kindly before leaving as well.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and slowly make my way down the hall. I stop in front of Eva's door and take a deep breath before knocking lightly.

"Come in."

I push it open and step into the bright room.

She pats the spot beside her on the bed, inviting me to come sit. I comply. She grabs my hand and places a kiss on top. I smile at her, and she does her best to return the gesture.

"In my heart," she starts, rubbing my hand with her thumb, "you'll always be my son."

I nod and take a shaky breath. With a mother like this, it's no wonder Theresa's as strong as she is.

Her eyes fill with tears but she keeps smiling. "Go home, Ryan."

I squeeze her hand before slowly getting up and leaving the room.

I hear the gentle click of the door shutting behind me. Across the hall, Theresa's door is closed. We've said all there is to say. We know what we meant to each other. We don't need the words.

I take one last look around before opening the squeaky door to the porch.

Sandy, Kirsten and Seth are already piled into the Range Rover, chatting and laughing as they wait.

I walk down the steps and climb into the back seat beside Seth, hanging my arm out the open window. Sandy starts the car.

"Okay! Everyone in the car!" The lady from next door calls to her two older children as she straps the baby into a car seat in the back.

The girl still appears to be holding a grudge, and is planted firmly outside the car. "I don't want to go!" she whines.

"Megan, get in the car!" the woman raises her voice, obviously frustrated at having to explain herself again. The lady is suddenly distracted, as it would appear she has forgotten something in the house. She rushes back inside.

"Get in the car, Megan!" the older boy demands.

"Why should I?" she screams at her brother.

"Because … we'll never have to be invisible again."

The lady rushes back out of the house, gets into the packed car and turns the key in one fluid motion. Afraid of being left behind, the little girl jumps in. Not a second later, they speed off down the road, the front door of the house let ajar.

I hear myself exhale a deep breath that I had been unaware I was holding.

I look around the car. All three Cohens have their eyes on me.

"You ready?" Sandy asks.

I nod and smile. "Let's go home."

- Fin -


End file.
